The Crucible
by MikeJaffa
Summary: After 133,000 years, the Cylons reemerge, and this time, it could be the end of everything.
1. Prologue 1

TITLE: The Crucible

AUTHOR: Mike Jaffa (aka Mikejoe aka Michael J. Gallagher)

SYNOPSIS: After 133,000 years, the Cylons are revealed … and this time, it could be the end of everything.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the rights to GENE RODDENBERRY'S ANDROMEDA. Nor do I own the rights to the re-imagined BATTLESTAR GALACTICA. Nor to the lyrics to any of the songs quoted. I am using all of the above without permission but I am not making any money off it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: First of all, this is not an alternate universe, at least as far as DROM's continuity is concerned. I just want that out there just in case. Second, I didn't watch GALACTICA much while it was on the air, but I saw the series finale and I checked on Wikipedia. So apologies in advance for any details I get wrong. Beyond that, I hope you like it!

"In every loss

In every lie

In every truth you'd deny

And each regret

And each goodbye

Was a mistake too great to hide

And your voice was all I heard

That I get what I deserve"

-Linkin Park, "New Divide."

PREVIOUSLY ON GENE RODDENBERRY'S ANDROMEDA:

A sudden Nietzschean assault leads the *Andromeda* into a trap at Enge's Redoubt, the homeworld of the Drago Kasov Pride - a trap set by their Nietzschean crew member, Tyr Anasazi. Dylan and his friends try to flee, but Tyr has sabotaged the *Andromeda* - they can not leave without destroying Enge's Redoubt. The Commonwealth fleet comes to the rescue. But when the Commonwealth's and Dragon's enemies descend on the system to settle old scores, Tyr returns to the *Andromeda* to repair the ship and allow his old friends to escape. Then he leaves in his slip fighter. Dylan and the *Andromeda* provide cover fire for Tyr and then leave the Enge's Redoubt system, leaving Tyr to fend for himself in the battle ….

AND NOW, ON GENE RODDENBERRY'S ANDROMEDA:

"Always beware of the risk of confusing your mask with your own face."

- Shadow Cavalry Covert Operations Manual, CY 63

PROLOGUE: IF YOU LOVE SOMETHING …..

Tyr hugged himself against the cold air in his slip fighter's cockpit. He had flown into a cluster of debris and powered down his ship's system to the bare minimum level to wait for the battle to spend itself. What could have been a parting gift for Dylan - the opportunity to destroy the Drago Kasov Pride once and for all (although he wouldn't have been surprised if Dylan had found another option) - had become a free-for-all as enemies of the Commonwealth and the Drago Kasov had descended on the system and begun settling scores, turning on each other once the Commonwealth and Dragon fleets had been decimated. Tyr hadn't anticipated this. His first order of business, after rendezvousing with the Sabra-Jaguar flagship, would be to investigate what had happened. This Collector whom he had been communicating with, Pish, probably had had a hand in it. Tyr would have to be certain they understood their relationship. He hadn't burned bridges with Dylan to see everything he was trying to build destroyed by someone who was supposed to be an ally.

The irony of that sentiment wasn't lost on him.

Not for the first time in the hour since the *Andromeda* had slipstreamed out of the system, Tyr's thoughts went back to his former colleagues. He had only barely noticed the *Andromeda* slipstreaming away as he negotiated a fire fight, and yet - irrational and un-Nietzschean though it was - he felt as if a part of his heart had gone along with it. Yet there was no denying that Dylan, Beka, Harper, and Trance - even the Magog and Andromeda herself in all her forms - had been a huge part of his life for three years. So of course his decision hadn't been an easy one, in spite of the facts. He'd always known he could never have pursued the opportunities open to him and remain part of Dylan's crew. He'd known this confrontation had been inevitable, with only a few possible endings.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Harper had accused him of waiting to betray the others, but had he been waiting or delaying as long as he possibly could? He'd debated the question almost daily in recent months, and he still didn't know the answer.

A female voice crackled on the audio channel: "Hello?" The voice shook with panic. "Can anyone hear me?"

Tyr activated his passive sensors and located the source: An armored transport drifting on the edge of the debris field. His fighter's computer couldn't determine if the single life sign aboard was human or Nietzschean, but whoever was aboard was flying erratically.

"Please," the voice went on. "I'm an escaped slave from Enge's Redoubt. My ship is damaged and I'm …. I'm sick! Is anyone out there?"

'Now would be a good time to come back, Dylan,' Tyr thought. He figured Dylan would have the same questions he did, and would return to find what information he could from the wrecked Commonwealth ships. If the *Andromeda* returned right now, they could scoop up the transport and rescue the occupant. Whatever was wrong with her, Trance would make short work of stabilizing her condition. Then Harper would probably inflict himself on the probably attractive female. (They always were attractive.)

'I am Seamus Zelazny Harper, super genious, here to serve your *every* need,' he would say. Then he would turn to Tyr. 'You found a little hottie. I guess you did something right today after all.'

Beeps from his console got his attention. Tyr shook himself. 'Focus,' he silently admonished himself. He was back in reality, no *Andromeda* in sight and new information on the transport: The occupant's life signs were becoming erratic. But two Ogami fighters had entered the area, zeroing in on signals from the ship.

"Is anyone out there?" the female voice repeated. "Please, help me!"

Tyr rolled his eyes. The occupant of that ship was as good as dead. Wherever Dylan was, he would have to corral the others into returning with him, and that would probably take a few more hours. Meanwhile, the Ogami would blow up the transport and its panicky occupant with it.

'That's no concern of mine,' Tyr told himself. Dylan might race to the rescue, but Tyr knew he had no obligation to do it. The transport's pilot had made her choice by flying into a war zone. Live or die, it would be the result of pitting her will against the universe, nothing more. It was no concern of Tyr's. Not his business at all.

The display showed the Ogami had acquired firing solutions on the transport.

"Drago's Bones!" Tyr cursed as he powered up the fighter and activated its active sensors. True to form, the Ogami turned on him.

Tyr went head on with the first fighter and dispatched it almost immediately. The other pilot was slightly smarter and got behind him. Tyr slammed on the reverse thrusters, got behind it and fired his missiles. The Ogami blew up. Sensors showed nothing else close enough to do any damage.

"Transport, stand by," Tyr radioed.

No response, although the occupant was still alive according to the sensors.

Tyr cautiously moved his fighter to dock with the transport's dorsal docking hatch. Once the latches were secure, he unstrapped from his chair and squeezed around the seat to open the docking hatch in the floor, revealing the transport's hatch. He tabbed a control on its edge and it irised open, revealing a ladder down into the ship's central section. The air didn't smell bad, so at least life support was working.

Tyr was halfway down the ladder when he heard the gauss pistol charge behind him.

"Now this is how it's going to be, human," said the voice he'd heard on the radio. "You and I are going to get out of this system in your fighter. Do as you're told and I'll let you go once we're at the nearest commerce planet. Fight me and things won't end well for you. Understood?"

Tyr looked over his shoulder and saw the gauss pistol being aimed at him by a human girl no taller than Trance or Rommie in a torn Drago Kasov ground support uniform. He guessed her age to be no more than 20 or 21. She had a tangled mass of red hair framing milky white eyes. That, the sound of her pounding heart and the smell of her adrenaline confirmed she was on flash. Some kind of blood-soaked bandage poked out from under her collar. She must have had a subcutaneous pain inflictor that she had removed herself. But then she saw her bone blades, peaking out through slits she'd ripped in her shirt sleeves. He revised his first opinion. Obviously, she was a Nietzschean. But a Nietzschean on drugs!? Unthinkable. But it explained why his computer hadn't identified her - it couldn't reconcile Nietzschean DNA with the life signs of a flash binge.

He almost couldn't either, but he filed that incongruity away and continued his assessment: She had to be an omega female. Probably no more than three times as strong as a comparably sized human girl, she was small and weak by Nietzschean standards. Nietzscheans would likewise take in her slim frame, small breasts, and thin lips and pronounce her plain, though he knew his human friends would say she was pretty. Harper would go overboard as always. (And ironically enough, Harper's chances with her would be slightly greater than 0% because on extremely rare occasions in the days of the Old Commonwealth, omegas had been allowed to breed with humans without being banished from their prides or facing other sanctions.)

Tyr envisioned Harper at the bottom of the ladder, turning around to face his captor.

'Oh my god, you are hot,' Harper would say. 'I am Seamus Zelazny Harper, and you can consider me a prisoner of you lo-'

"Are you deaf, human!?" the girl demanded. "I can shoot you and take your ship that way. That makes things harder for me but not by much. What's your answer?"

Tyr jarred back to reality. Of course, Harper wasn't really here; the girl had caught him wool gathering. But she had misread his reaction for fear. He could use that.

"A-all right," Tyr said, putting just enough of a tremor in his voice. "No need to be violent. I'll do as you say. Follow me." He started to slowly climb the ladder.

The girl began to climb behind him. "No tricks," she ordered.

Tyr's hand got on the top rung when he saw it by the hatch: The emergency docking collar release. Tyr wrapped one forearm around the ladder and held his body to it as he grabbed the release and yanked hard. Explosive bolts flashed around him, blowing the entire docking mechanism away from the ship, and the air rushing out began to push the two ships apart.

The girl cried in surprise as her pistol was yanked out of her hand and flew out the hatch. Tyr's free arm grabbed her just as she the air pulled her to his level and pressed her to him. Then the hatch above him automatically closed. If he hadn't grabbed her when he did, she would either have been blown out into space or been cut in half - maybe decapitated - by the closing hatch.

Why had he saved her again? Why had he bothered? Maybe Dylan's humanitarian efforts really had influenced him!

The girl wriggled in his grasp. He let go and she dropped down to the deck, landing badly and falling to the deck. Tyr dropped down, landing on his feet, just as she scrambled up. Her hand fished in a tool box and found a nano welder. It's tip blazed to life as she crouched, her bone blades twitched to full extension.

Tyr analyzed her stance. Clean and sober, she might have a chance: If she could get inside his reach, she could do a lot of damage before he countered her. But she wasn't thinking clearly. Her stance was poor, and her technique would be sloppy. Still dangerous to him, but it would be too easy to counter her, even kill her. He had not taken all these risks just to do that.

He extended one arm towards her as he stepped just slightly off to one side. "Now, listen to me-"

The girl lunged. Tyr side stepped and moved slightly forward. The nano welder missed him and she started to stumble past him - she'd thrown herself off balance, as he'd anticipated. Tyr put a hand on the back of her neck and shoved. The girl stumbled forward, crashing head first into a bulkhead. She turned to him, seemed to look him in the eye and slumped to the deck. The nano welder went off as soon as she dropped it.

Tyr grabbed a medical kit from a nearby rack. He propped her up against the wall and opened the kit and found the silver syringe: an injection of medical nanobots. They were designed to boost a Nietzschean's engineered immunity and aide healing, though not as effective as Commonwealth technology. What he wouldn't give for one of Trance's miracle cures right now!

'All right, Ship, you may have had a point,' he thought, remembering Rommie asking him about the wisdom of cutting himself off from his best allies. (It had been a penetrating question, actually, but he would die before he ever allowed that machine to know that.) But it was too late for recriminations, and he was the girl's only chance. He jabbed the syringe into her thigh and heard the hiss of its injection through her clothes. He tossed the syringe away and passed a medical scanner over her. As expected, the emergency nanos were trying to stabilize her, but her vital signs and blood chemistry were all over the place. Then he saw blood dribble from her tear ducts. The blood tears of a flash overdose.

"This is just wonderful," Tyr groused. Then he heard beeps from the cockpit. What now?

A voice crackled over the speakers. "Tyr?" It was a familiar deep voice, a cultured accent masking a cunning mind. "Duke Charlemagne Bolivar aboard the cruiser *Wotan,* calling on all frequencies. Respond please!"

The Sabra-Jaguar flagship, arriving slightly ahead of schedule. Maybe things were going to break the girl's way after all.

Tyr scooped her up, carried her to the cockpit, and laid her in the copilot seat. Then he got in the pilot seat and flipped open the mike. "Charlemagne, it's Tyr." He checked the instrumentation. "I am in an armored transport bearing 315 mark 27, four light seconds from your position. Alert your medical staff. I am coming in hot with a medical emergency."

"Tyr, what-"

Tyr hit the throttle. "Open your hangar doors now, Duke Bolivar, or brace for collision! I am coming in hot and have no time for niceties."


	2. Prologue 2

He carried the girl through the inner airlock and felt no surprise at what he saw: a squad of troopers with their rifles aimed at him. He held still as he saw movement behind them: The Duke Charlemagne Bolivar and his wife, Duchess Elsbett ….

…. And Olma, the former matriarch of Orca pride, whom Tyr had entrusted with raising his son, Tamerlane Anasazi, the true genetic reincarnation of Drago Mussevini. None of them looked happy. If anything, Olma looked mad as hell.

'Oh, crap,' Tyr thought. He hadn't informed Olma of his plans, but had believed he would be able to explain the situation to her after the fact. Obviously, that was no longer an option.

He wondered if this was how Harper felt when he was busted.

No time for that now.

"Please," Tyr said. "This girl needs immediate medical attention. I've stabilized her condition, but she's dying of a flash overdose."

"So what?" Olma snapped. "Where do you think you are? This isn't the *Andromeda.* I don't know that girl. She means nothing to me. I don't care if she lives or dies."

Tyr bristled at her callousness but chose not to be bated (and not to waste time analyzing his reaction).

"Very well," Tyr said calmly. "Allow this potential wife and mother to die. I'm sure the Knights of Genetic Purity will commend you for all the potential Nietzschean children you will prevent from ever being born."

He saw the words have their desired effect. Olma's anger didn't abate - in fact, it got worse - but he could tell she relented.

Olma made a quick, angry gesture to the troops. "Get her to med deck now!" she ordered.


	3. Prologue 3

Tyr, Olma and Charlemagne brought up the rear behind soldiers who rushed the girl's gurney into medical. Tyr watched from the sidelines as the white-uniformed doctors stripped her to her underwear, revealing the tattoos of horses - some realistic and some fanciful - covering her right arm from her shoulder to her wrist. I. V.'s were attached, injections were made, sensors were attached, vitals were taken, and medical jargon flew around table at 75 PSL.

The chief medical officer, a bald man named Joseph Caesar, came over. "We've only just begun our assessment. It will be a few minutes before we can make an initial diagnosis."

"May we use your office in the mean time?" Olma asked.

"Of course." The doctor pointed.

Tyr and Charlemagne followed Olma into the office.

"Olma-" Tyr started once the door closed.

Olma spun with speed he wouldn't have expected from the old matriarch. He felt the sting on his cheek at the same moment he saw the flash of gold light from Olma's hand to some place just beyond his vision. He wiped the blood from his cheeks just as he recognized the hilt of a monomolecular lash in her hand, it's muzzle blazing with gold light.

Tyr realized he could have died just now and not done a thing about it.

"I really ought to cut your head off," Olma growled. "I had come to Enge's Redoubt to investigate reports that someone claiming to be the reincarnated progenitor had take control of the Drago-Kasov pride. Next thing I know, you and the *Andromeda* show up and the whole star system is coming down around my ears. If I hadn't happened on the *Wotan* I don't know if I would have survived the crossfire."

"And Drago-Kasov Fleet Martial William Ataturk is a distant cousin of mine," Charlemagne said, not hiding his anger. "I assure you that if he and his family had not come through the battle unscathed, your head and your body would be leaving this ship via separate airlocks without any help from the matriarch."

"And is it true you have broken faith with Dylan Hunt?" Olma demanded. "Are you out of your mind? I'd expected you to maneuver him into offering his assistance. It's not like you haven't done it before. But to cut yourself off from your best allies, perhaps make them your enemies? What were you thinking? Are you trying to be the greatest survivor or the greatest idiot?"

Tyr smirked. "The Andromeda avatar made a similar point."

"She was absolutely right," Olma said. "I must send her my regards." Olma paced back and forth, then rounded on Tyr again. "And what about Tamerlane? Did you think about him?"

"I did this for Tamerlane!" Tyr protested.

"How so?" Olma asked.

"I did this so he wouldn't have to, Olma. So he would be safe."

"How generous of you," Olma said. "And what about when he comes of age? You don't think no one will notice that he and his father have identical DNA? How will you explain that?"

"Um…" Tyr said.

"At least tell me you didn't do this because you were sick of being ridiculed about the loss of your bone blades!" Olma added.

Tyr stroked his forearms. "Um…."

"Oh, just great," Olma groused.

"Olma-"

"Shut up and let me think!"

The door slid open, admitting the doctor. "Am I intruding?" he asked.

"No," Olma said, smiling. "Please, doctor, what is the news?"

"Tyr got her to us just in time," he said, consulting his hand-held unit. "Her condition is stable and we've accelerated the detoxification process. The immediate danger is passed."

"Is she fertile?" Olma asked, pointedly looking at Tyr. "The issue came up."

If Caesar caught the subtext, he made no sign as he consulted his information. "Yes, and there is no genetic damage. Remarkable considering the amounts of flash she's been using. There are, however, indications of an abortion about four years ago."

"Abortion?" Tyr wondered. First drug use, then an abortion? Had he stumbled into an alternate universe where Nietzscheans had forgot about survival and reproduction? What was going on?

"I see," Olma said. "Have you found an RFID chip?"

"Yes, on the back of her left hand. It is coded to the Cygnus Drift-" The doctor turned at a voice from the ward, then back to the waiting matriarch. "The Cygnus Drift Transportation Company. Excuse me." He left the office.

Olma laughed and turned to Tyr. She made a show of shaking his hand. "Well done, Tyr. Congratulations! We must get word to Captain Hunt. He will be pleased that you have been such a good apprentice."

"I don't understand," Tyr said.

"Well, then, allow me to enlighten you as to the fruits of your altruism," Olma said. "You have risked your life to save a prostitute."

"WHAT!?" Tyr yelped. First drugs, now this!? Among Nietzshceans? "How? Olma - I don't-"

Olma sighed, compassion breaking through her hanger. "Tyr. Have a seat."

Tyr sat in a chair by the desk.

"You should have stayed with the *Andromeda,*" Olma said, now more in sorrow than anger, "or formulated a scheme that left you in Dylan Hunt's good graces. I was afraid of something like this. Your years in exile have left you with, um, and idealized vision of our people. But the fact is that for all our genetic enhancements, we are human beings trying to live like lions. It is an extremely stressful existence and some cope with it better than others."

"I saw no evidence of such things in Orca pride," Tyr said.

"Oh, you thought we would air out our dirty laundry for a stranger arriving on an enemy ship?" Olma asked. "Though to be sure, Guderien and, to an even greater extent, believe it or not, Dimitri kept such things to a minimum. Dimitiri, in fact, kept everything from falling apart after you and Hunt destroyed our first homeworld. But in larger prides, such problems are more pronounced."

"And as to the girl…." Charlemagne added. "I'm afraid it's not unusual for omega females to be sold into sexual slavery, although that is usually at a younger age. And it can be debated whether that is the kindest fate. Many families consider omegas to be genetic mistakes, little better than human. In rare cases, omega fetuses are aborted. Most likely the children are worked to death before they can procreate, or sterilized outright. That this girl is in her twenties and fertile indicates she had a loving family, for a time anyway. But even then, finding a husband for her would be almost impossible."

"'Finding a husband'?" Tyr stammered.

"Oh, right," Charlemagne said, "you believe our mating practices are completely random, males accumulating wives by proving their worth to random females. Well, not quite." He tapped his forehead. "That old human brain messes everything up. Males usually single out the females they want to mate with, and at the very least, females have a 'short list' of males they'd prefer to select."

"It's the same old story," Olma lamented, "the handsomest boys try to pair off with the pettiest girls. I'm as guilty as anybody. If you had come of age in a pride, Tyr, you would have done it, too. And yes, it's a huge problem for me as a matriarch, making me a hypocrite every time I complained about it." She sighed. "As a result, it's not unusual for an omega female to be passed over by males of quality, even unmarried altogether, even though every fiber of her being is screaming at her to become a wife and mother. Some become so desperate they have their bone blades removed and pass themselves off as human, so they can sell themselves to unsuspecting human males as the only way to bear children, regardless of the consequences."

"Tell me Orca pride had no part in such barbarity," Tyr begged, ashen.

Olma smiled. "I prided myself on leaving no female without a husband, not even an omega, but in rare cases when no male could be found to prove his worth to an omega, from within Orca or another pride, I worked with high end slavers who carefully screened their clientele to find them positions as bound concubines to human magnates and potentates." She shrugged. "They and their descendants were banished from Orca Pride, but fortunately, all the girls I placed found good husbands and were able to raise families. So happy endings for them at least." She sighed. "But this girl…I can only speculate on what happened, Tyr, but if I'm right, this girl's family sold her into slavery so she could die."

"And they may get their wish," the doctor said as he reentered. "Forgive me for overhearing. I'm afraid our foundling has only a few days left to live."

"I don't understand," Tyr said. "You said the danger has past."

"I said the *immediate* danger has passed," the doctor clarified. "That is to say, she will not die from the overdose. But she has been using flash for a long time, regularly consuming between two and five times the amounts that would kill an unengineered human in one sitting. Her reproductive organs are the only ones that haven't suffered long term damage, and this overdose was - what is the expression? - the stick that broke the camel's back."

"Straw," Tyr corrected.

"Straw, yes," the doctor said. "In any case, her survival instinct and her body's nanobots are the only things keeping her alive right now, and her nanobots have passed their limit. They can no longer keep up with the damage and are breaking down and taking the rest of her immune system with them. We can keep her comfortable, but there's nothing we can do to prevent opportunistic infections from claiming her. It's only a matter of time. I'm sorry."

"Like hell," Tyr growled. "Duke Charlemagne, am I your prisoner or your leader?"

"Um, leader, I think," Charlemagne said, "or at least someone whose advice I can take."

"Then I advise you to return my sidearm to me," Tyr ordered. "Then I advise you to get us to Armon Roi by the quickest slipstream route possible."

"Armon Roi?" Charlemagne asked. "What's there?"

"If I'm right, the girl's salvation."

"Are you serious?" Olma asked, incredulous.

Tyr turned to her. "I'll tell you another lesson from Dylan Hunt, Olma: Never, ever, ever give up. Which just happens to be one of the few things he and I agreed on."


	4. Prologue 4

Tyr, Chralemagne, and Olma got to the *Wotan's* bridge just as the ship arrived in the Armon Roi system.

The Duchess Elsbett consulted a tactical display then turned to her husband with a smile. "My darling?" she said. "Perhaps you can ask the risen progenitor why this star system that is not in the Commonwealth is guarded by a defense grid with High Guard technology?"

"Indeed," Charlemagne said. "I'm sure he has a good reason."

"All will be revealed," Tyr said. He fished a data card out of his belt, pressed it against a panel, tabbed in a code, and waited.

"We're receiving a hail," an officer reported.

"On screen," Charlemagne ordered.

A middle-aged human with brown hair in an ornate, brown coat with gold trim filled the main screen. "Tyr Anasazi," he said with a smile. "I am Pish Tryan. I am pleased to meet you at-"

"Yes, yes, yes," Tyr said. "May we dispense with the pleasantries? You are a Collector, yes? You are one of those who have preserved the knowledge of the Old Commonwealth?"

Pish jumped, startled. "Yes, as you know-"

"Does that include medical knowledge?" Tyr pressed.

"Of course." Pish didn't hide his surprise. Clearly, this conversation was not going the way he had envisioned it.

"We have a patient who is dying from complications of flash usage," Tyr said. "Our physicians do not expect her to live. If you can save her, I will give you a fair hearing. If you can't, I will rethink allying with you. I may even conclude that I would be better served making overtures to my former commander, Dylan Hunt."

"So it's an audition?"

"Correct. And no, you have no choice in the matter."

"Stand by." Pish left the screen.

"Interesting," Charlemagne said. "You think he'll agree to your terms?"

"I'm certain of it," Tyr said. "I have more questions about this Pish than I am comfortable with, but one thing I am certain of is he really doesn't want me to work with Dylan. In fact, it's all I can do to try and persuade him Dylan is not a complete imbe-"

Pish returned to the screen. "Tyr, I can't make any guarantees. But if your patient is fit to travel, we will see her."

"Very well. Anasazi out."

The screen blanked. Tyr left the bridge

"Elsbett, you're in command," Charlemagne ordered. "Have scouts return to Enge's Redoubt and report on the Dragons and any sightings of the *Andromeda.*"

"What if our pilots enounter Dylan?" Elsbett asked.

Charlemagne thought it over. "Tell them to use their discretion, but remind them we are not yet at war with the Commonwealth and there's no benefit from starting one. Drago's Bones, things have been so screwy lately having Dylan show up on our door step might not be a bad thing."

"I'm inclined to agree."


	5. Prologue 5

On Armon Roi, Pish's medics rushed the girl's litter from the *Wotan's* shuttle to a hastily constructed medical tent in the middle of a ceremonial garden. Tyr noted the domes punctuating the landscape and the fortifications, the sea to the east and hills to the west. It would be a good place for a capital. He and Charlemagne exchanged pleasantries with Pish but stood in the tent's entrance and watched the medics cluster around the girl before Pish hurried them away.

"I'll inform you of any change," the Collector said. "But we have the best in the field working with the Commonwealth's entire medical database, including technology that had just been developed when the Commonwealth fell. Rest assured, if they can't save her, no one can."

"I have no doubts about their skill," Tyr said, "but I know one being who could have saved her an hour ago without a second thought, and she's not here. Our business will wait until the girl's fate is known."

Olma stayed in the medical tent while Tyr and Charlemagne wandered the gardens.

"A question arises," Charlemagne said.

"What is it?" Tyr replied.

"Suppose this Pish saves the girl. Then you ally with these Collectors and Dylan becomes your enemy?"

"Yes. So?"

"'So'? Tyr, I was there. I know the bonds between you and your shipmates. That isn't just a crew. It's almost a pride in its own way, and you were a part of it. Do you really have it in you to kill Dylan and take the *Andromeda* as a trophy? Or will you turn your back on him at the wrong moment and allow him to kill you?"

"That's my business, isn't it?"

"I know. But I just wanted to be sure you-"

"Tyr?" Pish's voice called.

Tyr and Charlemagne turned to see the Collector coming down the path.

Pish smiled. "I think you should see this."


	6. Prologue 6

Tyr only just managed not to smile as he stood over the girl's hospital bed. Her appearance was a huge improvement over only a few hours before. Some color had returned to her cheeks and her breathing was more even. A new bandage on her collarbone had less blood on it.

Her eyes fluttered open. The white in her irises had begun to break up, revealing patches of green.

Red hair and green eyes. Harper would surely fall all over himself at that. But why couldn't he stop thinking about Harper?

"They say I owe you my life, human," she said.

"I am not human anymore than you are," Tyr said quietly. "I am Tyr Anasazi out of Victoria by Barbarossa."

"You will forgive me if I have six objections to that identification."

"Then allow me to correct your assumptions."

He held his hand above her nose. She took a deep breath, breathing in his scent. Tyr withdrew his hand.

"My mistake," she said. "I apologize."

"Accepted. And you are?"

"Is …. Isolde B…Boru…" Her eyes closed and she sank back into sleep.

"What is her prognosis?" Tyr whispered to Pish.

"Excellent," Pish answered. "Our treatments will bolster her immune system as it regenerates, and then she'll be as good as new, provided…" he trailed off. "But if she gets clean, she should have a good long life. So. I have passed the audition, I think. Shall we discuss business?"

"Of course, Pish. Lead on…."


	7. Prologue 7

"Slipstream event," reported an officer on the *Wotan's* bridge. "It's one of our scouts. He's hailing us."

"On screen," Elsbett ordered. The pilot appeared on the central monitor. "What news?" Elsbett asked.

"The *Andromeda* briefly returned to the system," the pilot reported. "They rendezvoused with some stray Commonwealth ships that had been hiding in the debris fields and left. What chatter I heard seems to have indicated the *Andromeda* was retrieving communication files."

"Interesting," Elsbett mused. Why would Dylan have to retrieve files he presumably already had? Unless the Commonwealth was doing something behind Dylan's back. 'He won't like that,' she thought. But what that might be and whether …. Tyr …. Could capitalize on the situation were questions for another time. "Did the Dragons respond?"

"No, m'Lady. I think they were too busy licking their wounds to notice."

"Was the *Andromeda* aware of your presence?"

"No." He hesitated, then asked nervously: "Should they have been, m'Lady?"

"I don't think it matters now," Elsbett said. "It sounds like Dylan already has a great deal on his mind; if I know him, the whole universe will find out sooner or later anyway. Anything else?"

"Yes, I was hailed by another Nietzschean ship, Cygnus drift pride. They, ah, forced me to divulge your location."

"WHAT!?"

"Another slipstream event," the officer reported as a display showed an armored Nietzschean yacht enter normal space.

"I did not believe I had a choice," the scout pilot begged.

"Come back aboard," Elsbett commanded. "We will discuss just what you may or may not have had a choice about later."

"Yes, m'Lady." He left the screen.

"We are being hailed by the other ship, m'Lady."

"On screen."

The Nietzschean woman who appeared on the screen had to be about Olma's age but showed none of the warmth Olma was capable of projecting. Her severe black dress was counter pointed by the pile of white hair on top of her head.

Elsbett managed to smile. "Hello, Zireena," she said. "It's good to see you. What brings you to our lovely corner of the Universe?"

"Greetings, Elsbett," Zireena replied. "I regret to inform you I am here on business. I am trying to retrieve some property that has ….gone missing. I am requiring the assistance of all Nietzschean ships that are in or have recently been in the Enge's Redoubt system."

"I'd be happy to help," Elsbett said, bristling a little. "But we are in the middle of, ah, a crisis and many things are in flux. If you describe your lost property to me, I will be happy to search for it."

Zireena tabbed a console at her elbow. A window opened in Elsbett's screen, displaying a head shot of the girl they had rescued.

"I am searching for this girl," Zireena said. "She has been disowned by her family and is indentured to me. She answers to Isolde. Your pilot admitted that you may have rescued someone matching her description. If you have her, I command you to return her to me."

Elsbett didn't try to hide her anger. "My husband and I are involved in….delicate negotiations at the moment. If we have time, we will consider your request."

"I bear a letter from the Council of Matriarchs," Zireena said. "It gives me leave to search any ship within my purview. You are compelled to obey."

"My grandmother is the president of the council, Zireena. She'd be very interested to know why you interfered with affairs of state over such a trivial matter."

"And I would be happy to explain that to Ghanima, Elsbett, after you explain why the grand daughter who had once showed her favor to a human was being obstinate to her Nietzschean betters."

Elsbett's smile had vanished.


	8. Prologue 8

By the time Tyr and Pish concluded there initial discussions - covering enough ground to convince Tyr he was not wrong to ally with the Collectors - they had moved Isolde to a private tent. He sat by the sleeping girl's bedside for a couple of hours, thinking. A casual glance showed her condition was improving by leaps and bounds.

Isolde stirred. "Harper?" she mumbled. "Beloved?"

"'Harper beloved'?" Tyr murmured. Had he heard her right? She couldn't have been talking about the Seamus Harper he knew, could she? And even if she was, how could she have possibly known him? Whenever Harper had had anything that could not be counted as immediate rejection ("immediate" being the key word), Harper had bragged about it as if he'd made the greatest romantic conquest of all time. No one named Isolde had ever come up, nor anyone matching her description. It had to be someone else. It couldn't be Seamus Harper …. Could it? And if it was…. "Beloved"!?

'Just how much drugs did she do?' Tyr thought.

Isolde's eyes fluttered open. Her irises were now completely green, no trace of white. She turned to Tyr. "Hello."

"Hello," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Better."

"Good….Isolde, just now, when you were almost awake, you….asked for someone. Do you remember who?"

"No."

"It's just the name sounded like-"

"It's probably nothing, sir. The mutterings of a recovering flash user who's lost some blood. Pay it no mind."

Tyr scrutinized her. Not as good as an evasion as Trance could do, but enough for him to know he wasn't getting any more out of her unless he forced it, and he was not prepared to do that.

"All right," he said. "Do you have any questions?"

"They say you are the risen progenitor," Isolde said. "How am I to address you?"

"'Tyr' will be fine," Tyr answered.

"No title?"

"I have found a sincere expression of appropriate respect is more important than any title. Conversely, there are more important issues to remonstrate with someone over than etiquette."

"Hmm, I like that idea. What happened to your bone blades?"

"You could say I had an accident in a tunnel."

"What happened, exactly?"

"I don't know."

"You're very strange, Tyr."

"No, Isolde, I am very ordinary, but I have done strange things with strange people." He got misty-eyed for a moment. "The best kind of people. Anything else?"

"Why did you save me?"

"Would you rather I hadn't?"

"Beside the point, Tyr. No Nietzschean does anything for anyone but themselves, and there's no practical value in your rescuing a flash-fried prostitute with no family."

"Not, not now, Isolde, but with training you may have yet be of use to me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Me. Have some use. To you."

"I have seen more done with much less. Training you would be a long term investment. But first-"

Duke Charlemagne Bolivar burst into the tent. "Pardon the interruption," he said. "Tyr? We have a huge problem." The two Nietzscheans huddled by the entrance.

Isolde frowned, but then the breeze picked up, carrying a familiar scent into the tent. 'No,' Isolde thought. She climbed out of bed and crossed to Tyr and Bolivar; she peaked out between the two bigger men.

Zireena was bustling across the lawn, carrying her long walking stick, followed by a squad of her thugs. Duchess Elsbett and another group of Sabra-Jagaur troops came with them.

Zireeana spotted her. "Isolde? Come here, girl."

Isolde looked up at Tyr. "You bastard!" She snapped an elbow into Tyr's floating ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Then she darted back toward her bed, picked up the chair Tyr had been sitting in, and hurled it at Tyr and Charlemagne. They ducked just in time, and by the time they had recovered their footing, Isolde had made it to the back of the tent and was ripping a hole with her bone blades. She jumped through it and half ran, half staggered down the lawn.

Tyr and Charlemagne came around the tent, joining the other Nietzscheans, just as Zireena pressed a button on her cane. A swarm of silver nanobots buzzed out of its pommel and chased after Isolde. She ran as hard as she could, but the swarm caught up to her. She screamed and cried out as they swarmed all over her, stinging her with minute electrical charges if she tried to run any farther. By the time Zireena and her goons had caught up to her, Isolde had curled up in a ball on the ground, the metal swarm buzzing over her.

Zireena pressed another button in her cane; the swarm returned to the pommel as two of Zireena's goons roughly brought Isolde to her feet and held her arms.

Zireena inspected the bandage on Isolde's collarbone and almost smiled. Almost. "You disarmed and removed your tracking and obedience device," she said, "and managed to survive the battle. I'd commend you if it wasn't for your defiance." She slapped Isolde hard. "Is this how you repay me after all I've done for you?" Zireena yelled. She slapped Isolde again. "Do you think it was funny that I had to chase you all over a war zone?" Another slap! "I hope you enjoyed your taste of freedom, because I will severely punish you when we get home-"

"Just kill me and be done with it, you hag!" Isolde snarled. "I'm done with you. No matter what you do to me, I won't do your bidding anymore."

Zireena stared at Isolde for a long moment. "As you wish," she said quietly, and drew a dagger from the folds of her gown.

Tyr drew his pistol and leveled it at Zireena's head. "You die one second after she does," Tyr said.

Zireena turned to Tyr, more puzzled than angry, her goons drawing their weapons. "Are you serious?" she demanded.

"Yes," Tyr said quietly.

"What is she to you?"

"More than what she is to you are at the moment."

"She's no one! She has no pride and no family."

"That's where you're wrong," Charlemagne said. He drew his pistol and leveled it at Zireena. "She's Sabra-Jaguar." The Sabar Jaguar guards took aim at Zireena's goons.

"Since when?" Zireena asked.

"Truthfully?" Charlemagne answered. "Since you pissed me off."

Olma finally came up from behind Tyr and Charlemagne, smiling serenely. "Zireena?" she said. "Perhaps it's time for cooler heads to prevail. May I speak with you privately?"

"After you."

As the two women went back to the tent, Charlemagne and Tyr kept their weapons trained on Zireena's guards.

"Well, that settles it, Tyr," Charlemagne said. "At the earliest opportunity, we will have to get Dylan a full medical work up. The man must have a communicable form of insanity."

"I had Trance check several times and she found nothing," Tyr said. "But if you think you could find something she missed, be my guest."

"That is unlikely, isn't it?"


	9. Prologue 9

"What are you up to, Olma?" Zireena asked entering the tent.

"Who says I'm up to anything?" Olma replied. "No small talk with an old friend? I was wondering how you got reinstated to the Council of Matriarchs. I guess you are back in Ghanima's good graces?"

"Are you still continuing that ridiculous feud?"

Olma's smile didn't waver, but her voice hardened slightly. "There's nothing ridiculous about one of our most sacred offices being for sale to the highest bidder, certainly not a bidder who wouldn't know a DNA sequencer if you dropped it on her head."

"Is this why you took me aside?"

"I just wanted to be sure that you wish to remain on good terms with the president of our illustrious council. I can understand completely if you wanted to avoid doing something that might annoy her."

Zireena half-smiled. "By siding with you? Relinquishing my claim on this girl? You know better, Olma. Isolde defied me. You know I have to make an example of her. It's in my best interests to maintain my dominance."

"One would think your best interests would be served by acting on behalf of the Nietzschean people as a whole."

"I don't understand."

"Surely you have heard the rumors that the Progenitor has returned."

"Yes… again. We're both old enough to have seen many false messiahs come and go, Olma."

"Not this time, Zireena. The genetic reincarnation of Drago Mussevini finally walks amongst us. You have met him today."

It took a moment for Zireena to get it. "The Bladeless One?" she yelped. "Are you serious?"

"I ran the DNA myself," Olma said, "and you have no doubts about my skill."

"No, but … What could he want with Isolde? If he wants one of my girls, I can find one who isn't quite so willful."

"Are you presuming to question the wisdom of the progenitor?"

"Of course not!"

"Of course, it means siding with me," Olma said. "And Ghanima might be annoyed by that. But for the good of the Nietzschean people, some sacrifices have to be made, don't you think?"

Zireena smiled slightly. "Yes, I do."


	10. Prologue 10

When the matriarchs returned to the stand off, Zireena crossed to where Isolde was still being held by her guards.

"My mistake," she said. "I don't know this girl. The one I seek is not here. I will have to keep searching." A quick wave, and Isolde was released. Zireena turned to Tyr and bowed. Tyr nodded slightly. Then Zireena and her thugs went back up the path.

When she was sure Zireena was out of earshot, Olma sidled over to Tyr. "Well, Tyr, it looks like my head is next to yours in the noose. Do us both a favor and try not to run for the edge of the gallows just yet."


	11. Prologue 11

"You saved me again," Isolde said as she got into back into bed.

"It is becoming a habit," Tyr said. "Now, as I said before we were so rudely interrupted, yes, with training you can be of value to me. But there is something you must do in return."

"Stay off flash," Isolde said.

Tyr nodded.

"Some things are not so simple," Isolde said.

Tyr leaned forward a little. "I know a human woman who is in many ways as formidable as any Nietzschean. She is a valiant warrior and the greatest star pilot I have ever known, perhaps the greatest pilot ever. Yet she once succumbed to flash. She almost died. Yet she has struggled against it. And in the two years since, she has not used it once. I would have known if she had. If a human can do it, why can't you?"

Isolde looked away for a moment. "Tyr, do you ever wonder if Nietzsche was wrong about God? That there is a supreme being after all?"

"No, but I once had many thought-provoking and ….spirited debates about the subject with a Wayist. You think it was not random chance I found you?"

"I should be dead," Isolde said. "Or dying. I'm not. Perhaps a supreme being saw fit to give me another chance at life. If so, I shouldn't do anything to waste it."

"Very well then." He extended his hand. "We have a deal?"

She shook it. "Yes, Tyr, we do."


	12. Prologue 12

**….. FOUR MONTHS LATER…..**

_'Izzy?' Harper says incredulously. He is dirty and dressed in rags, chained to the wall of the small metal cell in the *Eureka Maru* by a collar around his neck._

_'Harper!' Isolde rushes across the cell to her one-time companion and hugs him. 'I knew you were her prisoner. You couldn't have left of your own free will-'_

_'Watch out, Izzy! If Valentine finds you-'_

_'She's dead.'_

_'What!?'_

_An alarm goes off, red lights flash, and a voice from the speakers starts to repeat, 'Warning. Self destruct initiated. Warning. Self destruct initiated…'_

_'She rigged the ship to blow if her vital signs stopped,' Harper says. 'You have to get out of here.'_

_'Not without you. Cover your eyes!'_

_Harper covers his eyes. Isolde presses her sonic screwdriver to the lock on his collar; it sparks and the collar falls from his neck._

_In the passage, Harper stops over the body of Rebecca Valentine. The red-haired pirate queen is lying where she fell, after Isolde ran her through with her own sword. Harper spits on her face._

_Isolde grabs his hand. 'Come on!'_

_They run out of the *Maru* and into the hangar of Valentine's volcano lair, past the spot where Robert Jensen was vaporized by Isolde's overloading monomolecular lash, through the tunnels and past all the drones and traps Isolde had disabled or destroyed. They make it out of the cave entrance just as the *Maru* explodes. Isolde pushes Harper to the ground and throws herself on top of him just as flames shoot from the cave mouth, barely missing them. _

_Isolde leads him down the hillside to where her horses are waiting. 'The local security net should still be tied up in knots,' she says with a smile, 'a credit to how well you taught me hacking. We should have no trouble getting-'_

_'Wait a minute, wait a minute,' Harper says. 'Let me look at you.'_

_They face each other less than a meter apart._

_'You're all grown up,' Harper says._

_Isolde giggles. 'Not "too young" anymore.'_

_'I thought you'd go home and forget all about me.'_

_'I could never forget you.'_

_'I'd lost hope. I thought no one would find me.'_

_'I would have spent a lifetime searching a hundred universes for you. I love you, Seamus Harper. I always have. I always will. No power in the universe can change that.'_

_'Izzy. I love you, too, you crazy kid.'_

_He takes her in his arms. Isolde closes her eyes, ready for the kiss she has spent seven years longing for-_

-and woke with a start. "Ha…" she started to say, briefly struggling against whatever was holding her. Then she remembered what it was: Her sleeping bag. She had been camping with her personal servant, Margaret, in the hills northwest of Tyr's fortress on Armon Roi. Tyr had decided to send her now so she would not be in the way while he dealt with his rival, someone named Dylan Hunt. She didn't know much about him, other than that he had an old High Guard ship and Tyr had once been part of his crew. It sounded more like a pride split to her than anything else. She hadn't wanted to go, but Tyr had bought her off by having them go on horseback.

"How did you know that would buy me?" Isolde had asked.

"Hmm, let me think," Tyr had said, tapping the tattoos of horses visible on her right arm between her bone blade gauntlet and her sleeveless top. "Perhaps I am a good guesser?"

"Mmm, Mistress?" A head of long, blonde hair poked out of the sleeping bag next to hers. "Is everything all right?" the 25-year-old human asked.

"All is well, Margaret," Isolde said. "It was just a dream. Go back to sleep."

"Thank you, misss…." Margaret's head sank back into her sleeping bag; her breathing immediately became heavy and slow. Isolde rolled on her back and looked up at the stars through the trees.

No Harper. No *Maru.* No mountain lair. No life-or-death sword fight for the sake of a lost love. It was all so silly, like something out of an action-adventure holodrama. Her father and Commander Halleck had been right, of course. Harper had taken advantage of her and her naiveté and made good his escape from Earth. She hadn't wanted to believe it, but they had shown her the evidence: the security camera footage; the information on Rebecca Valentine, Robert Jensen, and the *Eureka Maru*; and what communications between Harper and the smugglers Halleck had uncovered …. Only because he had known Harper for years. Isolde had felt as if her life had ended that day, as if a completely different person had lived the first 15 years of her life and she had only existed for the last seven, only she now lived the cold hard truth, not the fantasies of a heartsick school girl.

But the stars still seemed to call her. She thought she could still feel Harper; it seemed like he was closer than ever, waiting for her. And the dreams - the battle with Captain Rebecca Valentine for the fate of Seamus Harper - still haunted her. If anything, they'd got worse over the past few weeks. As if that lovesick girl was still inside her, fighting to get out.

'Go back to sleep, silly girl,' she thought. 'He's long since forgot about you. Time for you to return the favor.'


	13. Prologue 13

In the morning, Isolde and Margaret bathed in a nearby stream and then got dressed. Except for wearing her hair in a pony tail, her weapons bandolier, and bone blade gauntlets, Isolde and Margaret wore identical camouflage tank tops and sarongs and leather boots.

Isolde consulted her hand-held computer while Margaret prepared their breakfast.

"Well, that low pressure center we were worried about is going a bit farther south than expected," Isolde said, "so except for a few clouds it should be good weather all the way back home. Temperature around 25 Celsius."

"Good," Margaret said. "I hate chilly, rainy days."

"Those are the best kind for riding in the hills."

"Begging my mistress' pardon, but you can't feel cold."

"Good point."

Isolde put the computer in her pack and crossed to her slave. "Let's see what you've made for us?" She brightened. "Hard-boiled taspar eggs!" She sat down om the ground. "And Antarean Kelp Tea. Margaret Thornwood, you are entirely too good to me."

"I'm just amazed you eat what I make for you without checking for poison," Margaret said as she passed Isolde her plate and her mug and sat down next to her mistress.

"I want to trust you, Margaret," Isolde said as they started eating. "Trust …. For a Nietzschean, if you can find it, it's like magic. Even a moment's break from endless plotting and scheming is worth it."

"Sounds it. Have you got to that point yet?"

"No, but I'm trying. Unless you poison me first."

Margaret smiled. "All right, you're still a typical Nietzschean." She ate some more of her egg. "So, are you going to tell me who it is, Mistress?"

"Who's who, Margaret?"

"Your mystery man. You dreamed about him again last night, didn't you? Come on, Mistress! Everyone knows there's someone. You almost always wake with his name on your lips. And no one is brave enough to ask Tyr."

"Tyr?"

"I think he suspects who it is, but he's not saying."

Isolde chewed thoughtfully. "How could Tyr know him?"

"Ah-hah! So there is someone."

Isolde looked away.

"Please, Mistress?" Margaret begged. "I'm dying of curiosity here. His name at least. What was it? Harold? Harvey?"

"Harper. Seamus Zelazny Harper."

"Ooh, sounds exotic. Was he tall, dark, and handsome?"

"More like short, pale, and messy, but …. Cute. He had a kind face." Isolde smiled at the memory. "Eyes as blue as the sky, and hair the color of flax. And the smartest human I've ever met. There wasn't anything I couldn't teach him, though getting him to try some things required a little …. Creativity on my part. And he could always make me laugh, though not always out loud."

"Where did you meet him?"

"On Earth when I was 15. My father and a rival were meeting there because Earth was neutral territory, and we, ah, agreed that it would be better to engage a local to keep me company than use a slave because, ah, some slaves are too worried about punishment to be interesting-"

"You mean you wanted someone to get in trouble with."

"Me, Margaret? Never. I'm as good as gold."

"Of course, Mistress. So, what happened?"

Isolde swallowed the last of her egg and started drinking her tea. "He escaped two weeks before we would have let him go anyway. Walked right out in the middle of the night. I only knew something was up because I caught his scent when I got up to go to the bathroom. It was all over the entrance to the back stairs, which he never used; and he'd jimmied the lock so the alarm wouldn't go off. I decided to track him myself; the authorities would have shot first and not bothered with questions. Made it to the subway station just as his train pulled out. I found his cousin, but Brendan wouldn't tell me anything, and then he ran off just as soldiers came into the area."

"Soldiers? I don't understand."

"Harper had made contact with some off world smugglers. He helped them steal 100 surface to air missiles in exchange for passage off Earth. They killed some guards and made it as far as Saturn where they dumped the missiles to destroy some fighters that had cornered them. They made it to slipstream and that was that. I haven't seen him since."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"Did he leave a note? Did you ever hear from him again?"

"No and no." Isolde shrugged. "I didn't want to believe that he hadn't been tricked or threatened or … something. But the fact is he used me to get what he wanted, and outwitted an entire planet. Almost worthy of a Nietzschean."

"I'm sorry," Margaret said.

"For what?" Isolde asked.

"He was your first love, and he broke your heart-"

"Oh, come off it!"

"Then why do you still think about him?"

Isolde looked away.

"We've all been there," Margaret went on. "There's always the one that got away. That's what Harper is to you. And don't deny it. Underneath all the genetic engineering and eugenics and will to power, you're just as much a human woman as I am. You'll never forget him. And maybe, somewhere, he thinks of you."

"I doubt it."

"You keep saying there's no good or evil, that nothing is all black or white. Harper used you to get off world, yes, but that doesn't mean he didn't like you. You said you smelled him in the hall. I bet he went to your door and looked in on you one more time."

"To curse the Nietzschean brat who made him her pet."

"Or to say goodbye to someone he cared about."

Isolde looked way, then smiled at Margaret. "Well, we'll never know, will we? It's all academic; I'll probably never see him again."

"Maybe. Or maybe you'll find him in the one place you'll never expect."

Isolde relented. "That would be nice, wouldn't it?"


	14. Prologue 14

It was noon by the time they made it back to Tyr's fortress. Isolde and Margaret left their horses at the stable, and went into the main garden where they found Olma.

"Tyr sends his regrets, Isolde," Olma said. "He's leaving on a very important mission and will be incommunicado until it is completed."

"So are we-" Isolde started, then wrinkled her nose. She sniffed the air. She frowned.

"Something wrong, Mistress?" Margaret asked.

"Ah, no," Isolde said. She turned back to Olma. "Are we to follow Tyr into battle, then?"

"No, we are to go to the Vadras sector and rendezvous with the *Wotan* for-" Olma took a deep breath. "-a special meeting of the Council of Matriarchs."

Margaret sighed. "Well, back to dressing like something out of *Arabian Nights.*"

Olma smiled at the slave. "That looks good on you, Margaret. And after you change, why don't you take a snack over to that nice young man in the motor pool. What is his name, Thomas?"

Margaret rolled her eyes. "With all due respect, Madame Olma, would you please stop trying to-" She broke off. "Mistress?" she said to Isolde.

Now Olma turned to the younger Nietzschean. "Are you all right?"

Isolde was sniffing the air with deeper and deeper breaths, almost hyperventilating, getting more and more agitated. "This isn't possible," she said.

Isolde ignored Margaret and Olma as they followed her over the foot bridge to where Tyr had set up his tent. The scent only got stronger and stronger. She went to one of the chairs at the table by the tent and took as deep breath. That familiar odor filled her nose. But it was impossible! Then she saw the small plate. She picked it up and tilted it into the light, until she found just the right angle under which Nietzschean vision let her see the finger print …

…his finger print-Harper's! There was no mistaking it!

She gasped and dropped the plate.

"Mistress?" Margaret asked.

"What is it?" Olma asked.

Isolde found her voice: "He was here."

"Who was?" Margaret asked.

Isolde turned to the slave and the matriarch. "Harper!" she stammered.

"Seamus Harper, the *Andromeda's* engineer?" Olma asked. "That Harper? You know him?"

"You saw him!?" Isolde demanded.

"Well, I didn't get a chance to talk to him," Olma explained, confused. "I understand he was briefly here as Tyr's hostage so Captain Valentine could go and-"

"Rebecca Valentine, mistress of the *Eureka Maru!?*" Isolde yelled. "Where is that hell spawn?"

"Leaving with Tyr now," Olma explained.

"What!?"

"Isolde," Olma pleaded, "you're not making any sense!"

They turned at the roar of engines. It rose into the sky from just behind the hedge: a blocky pile of modules surmounted by a cargo pod, three engines sticking out of the rear. One of a kind. The ship that had haunted Isolde's dreams for seven years, ever since that accursed night.

The ship whose captain had destroyed her innocence and changed her life.

The *Eureka Maru.*


	15. Prologue 15

Isolde pulled down her cloak's hood as she came out of the rain and descended the stairs into the subway station. Though 15, she looked younger (and, some complained, acted even younger than she looked), and was a head shorter than Harper, so she had worried about someone wondering what someone as young as she appeared to be was doing out this time of night. Fortunately, no one challenged her. She dropped a coin in a turnstile and pressed through to the catwalk above the platforms. She looked over the railing as a train pulled into one of them.

Her eyes locked onto a figure walking towards the last car. He had his hood up, but he wore the same jacket Harper had worn when they'd met, had the same build and the same gate. And Harper's scent was coming from that direction.

"Harper!?" she shouted.

He turned towards her voice just as he entered the car, and she saw his face, but his expression was cold, no trace of a smile.

"Wait!" Isolde yelled. She almost fell down the steps. The train's doors had closed as she started running across the platform; Harper was still on the train. It started to move. Isolde kept pace with the window closest to Harper as it picked up speed.

"Harper!" she yelled.

He didn't look at her, keeping his attention ahead of him. She fell behind as the train accelerated, and ran as hard as she could to the end of the platform, where all she could do was stop and stare into the black void that had swallowed the first and only person she had ever trusted.


	16. Prologue 16

"I don't believe it," Isolde said, too agitated to sit down. She and her father, Trevor Boru, were in the office of Commander Ghengis Halleck in the Nietzschean garrison. Trevor was a big, burly man with curly red hair. Halleck had just left on Trevor's request, after both men had walked Isolde through the evidence of Harper's complicity with Rebecca Valentine.

"I don't believe any of it!" she repeated.

"Then what do you make of all this?" Trevor asked gently. Seated at the desk, he gestured at the flexies about Valentine and Jensen and the hologram of the *Eureka Maru.*

"Faked," Isolde said, "or incomplete." She picked up the flexie with the mug shot of Rebecca Valentine, the *Maru's* red-haired captain. "This one, Rebecca Valentine. She tricked him or forced him or-or, seduced him somehow. She made him leave-"

"And the witnesses who say, without any inducements or threats, that Harper had been wanting to leave Earth for months? Even Commander Halleck knew that to be so."

"He could have come home to Nua Eireann with us. And I would have taken him any place he wanted to visit. He didn't need *her* and he knew it."

"All right." Trevor stood up and walked around the desk to his daughter. "What's to be done, then? When a human escapes Nietzschean space, it's almost impossible to recover him. I believe the success rate is something like-"

"0.025%," Isolde said.

Trevor nodded. "I can make some inquiries," he said, "offer a reward-"

"No, no bounty, Daddy. I'll do it." She turned away from him and adjusted her cloak. "All I need is a ship. I shall leave at once."

"And where will you go, Isolde? Where will you look?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. But I won't rest. I won't stop. I'll find him. I can always find him. Harper knows that. That's it! He's waiting for me to rescue him. And I will. I'll wring the truth out of that vile woman before I break her neck. And then Ha-Harper and h-h-I…." She started to cry. "W-w-w-eeee'll b-b-b…" She turned to Trevor with tears streaming down her cheeks. "I love him, Daddy," she managed. "I told him I love him. Why did he lee-ee-eeave…"

Great sobs shook her body; she could no longer speak, just wail. Trevor Boru, Drago-Kasov pride, took his daughter in his arms and held her until her tears subsided.


	17. Prologue 17

Seven years seemed to melt away as Isolde's eyes locked on the *Maru* as it continued to ascend on its vertical landing jets. She thought she could just make out the tiny figure sitting in the cockpit. Then the main engines roared to life and the ship began to accelerate over the gardens.

"No!" Isolde ran down the path as if she could catch it on foot. But by the time she'd reached the bridge, the ship had nosed up and was rocketing skyward. A few more seconds and it went super sonic, instantly becoming a point of light in the sky.

She ran back to Olma. "We have to stop that ship!" she cried.

"We can't," Olma's said. "Tyr's mission-"

"I don't care about that!" She turned back to the patch of sky the *Maru* was vanishing into. "I want Harper back," she blurted.

"Isolde…." Olma said gently, "darling. Harper, if it's the same person-"

"It is! I'd know his scent anywhere."

"-then …. Harper is the chief engineer of the *Andromeda Ascendant.* He's part of Dylan Hunt's crew, one of …. One of Tyr's enemies now. Maybe our forces can capture him in the coming battle. Otherwise, there's nothing we can do…."

"But he was here." Isolde started crying. "He was just here. I'd lost hope and he was here….If I could have talked to him, I….maybe…."

And for the second time in seven years, she could no longer speak.


	18. Prologue 18

As night fell, reports dribbled back: The *Maru* had followed the *Andromeda* to some strange spatial anomaly; there had been some kind of confrontation. The *Maru* had fallen into the anomaly, followed by the *Andromeda.* Then only the *Andromeda* reappeared in another sector; no one could say how, since it did not appear to arrive by slipstream. Spies reported she had put in for refueling, and had acquired provisions consistent with the needs of both the *Andromeda* and the *Eureka Maru.* As far anyone could tell, Hunt and all his crew, including Harper and….and Valentine had survived.

There was no word of Tyr.

As the Moon rose, Olma found Isolde where she had remained for hours, sitting in a chair by Tyr's tent. The same chair Harper had sat in.

"You should get to bed soon," Olma said gently as she took another seat at the table. "If I can't wriggle out of one of Ghanima's I-love-me sessions, you can't either."

Isolde's eyes remained glued to the table in front of her. "Have I made a complete fool of myself, Olma?"

"Not a complete one, no."

"Thanks."

Olma smiled. "We've all been there, Isolde. Even me."

"Even with … a non-Nietzschean?"

Olma nodded. "Mine was a Castellean water-breather while my family visited relatives in Volsung Pride. I think my mother suspected something when I spent my baths seeing how long I could hold my breath under water." She paused. "My record was 7 minutes 25 seconds, by the way."

Isolde smiled.

"I think you're a normal female, Isolde. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed." She rubbed her eyes. "The humans have a saying: 'If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours forever. If it doesn't, it was never meant to be.'" She dropped her hands. "Why do I feel like the one who's not free? I know it's a silly schoolgirl crush. I know I should move on. But I can't."

"You're not ready to," Olma advised. "You have questions only Seamus Harper can answer. Nothing else will satisfy you."

"And when I have my answers? Will I be free then?" Isolde asked.

Olma shrugged. "I can't tell you what decisions to make, Isolde. As a matriarch, I can only advise, not interfere. What happens between you and Harper, if anything, is your choice and yours alone. As a friend, I can warn you that the answers you seek, you may not like them."

"I would rather live with the truth for just a day than go a hundred years without knowing. I'm prepared for whatever comes. If only I knew where to start."

"I'm sure something will present itself someday. If I've learned one thing from Tyr and Dylan Hunt it's to expect the unexpected. In the mean time, you have to get to bed. We have to be rested enough to keep our faces from breaking as we smile to Ghanima's face. Then off to Midden as quickly as possible."

The two women started down the path.

"So, what happened with the water breather?" Isolde asked.

"Oh, it turned out he was a homosexual," Olma answered.

"What!"

"See what I mean?"

"I hope I don't have to worry about that."

"So do I. Harper's genes probably make him unworthy as a father, regardless of his accomplishments, but that doesn't mean he'd be a bad husband. Which reminds me, I should probably check my Crate & Barrel account."

"Now I remember why I never told you about Harper."

They laughed.

Behind them, undetected by any organic eye or mechanical sensor, the man and the woman, arm-in-arm, turned and strolled down a different path. He wore a dark suit with his shoulder length-hair immaculately combed; she was a beautiful blonde in a red evening gown with earrings and rings flashing in the lights.

"And so the last actors take the stage," he said.

"Does it have to end like this?" the woman asked.

"My dear, there's nothing for it," he replied. "Humans and Cylons have literally had an eternity to work out their differences and get past hating each other, but they can't seem to do it. Fine. When it starts again, the Cylons won't hold back. They won't pull their punches this time, and there will be no survivors to race to another part of the universe, as if the survivors will be able to go anywhere the Cylons won't find them. Not this time."

"But after all Trance and her friends have done, and all they have yet to do-"

"You mean the Abyss? He's a loose canon that has to be put own. Recovering Tarn Vedra will be a nice feather in Trance's cap, too. And she and her friends may have a time of relative peace without the scrutiny of the media they've had these past few years. But no more. The last act for Trance Gemini and the crew of the *Andromeda Ascendant* will be to set in motion the end of all that lives."

END OF PROLOGUE


	19. 1

**… FOUR YEARS LATER (FROM DYLAN & CO'S PERSPECTIVE, ANYWAY) ….**

"Luna?" Standing over the small bunk in the rear compartment of Harper's small starship, the *Rom Doll,* Doyle shook the former crime boss' shoulders.

"Huh-whoa-" The raven-haired woman in a leather bodice opened her eyes and promptly winced against the light. "I'm up, I'm up." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Just tell the giant to stop using my head as a - what's that game Dylan likes again?"

"Basket ball," the blonde android replied.

"Right." Luna sat up. "What the heck was that drink?"

"A Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. I've never seen a human stay conscious through more than one."

"I guess I kind of passed out before I could get to the third one."

"Not a bad thing, and not just because your liver would have exploded. I can't believe the guys you were coming on to. You've made me glad I can never get beer goggles ….although in your case, I might say beer image enhancement."

"Yeah, I do get a little screwy when I'm wasted."

"'Screwy'? Luna, you made Harper look suave. But at least he has a minimum standard he never wavers from."

"I guess that was a strong drink, Doyle. Do not ever make one for me unless I threaten to kill someone you like."

"Done."

"So, what's up?"

"We're on our way back to Tarn Vedra-"

"Right, you need me to slip pilot." As crappy as she felt, Luna relished every chance she got to test her new slip-piloting skills. And with Dylan and all his friends taking the *Andromeda* to some kind of hush-hush-supposed-to-be-top-secret-but-everyone-k new-about-it meeting with …. Well, not to actually meet that Tyr Anasazi person but meet a courier from him (even if Luna cared about diplomatic niceties, she didn't pretend they didn't confuse her), there had been no one else to take Doyle and the *Rom Doll* to El Dorado Drift to get some supplies for the Oasis, Harper's bar Tarn Vedra.

"No, I've got it." Doyle turned and headed forward into the cockpit. "I just wanted you awake after the last jump back to Tarn Vedra."

"Huh?" Luna followed the android. "But I thought-"

Doyle was already in the pilot's chair. "Transiting to slipstream."

Luna fell into the flight engineer's station as the little ships jumped into slipstream. "I thought machines couldn't do this!" she shouted.

"You don't have to shout. And you're right, but I can cheat. But if you'll give me a minute…."

Luna nodded. The little ship weaved and spun through the slipstream, then a jolt and a flash of light and they were above Tarn Vedra. What had once been an arid rock Luna had known for her whole life as Seefra One was now dotted with patches of green and blue, courtesy of the terraforming Dylan had arranged two years ago.

"As I was saying," Doyle said, "you're right, normally machines can't navigate the slipstream. But Harper programmed me and …. Well,. I guess you could say 'the other Andromeda sisters' with the Deep Midnight's Voice slipstream map."

"Deep Midnight's Voice?"

"A Nietzschean slip scout from before the Fall. They mapped all the slip routes and decisions points for The Known Worlds and beyond. It takes guess work out of slip piloting, so anyone using the map can get where they're going."

"This another one of Dylan's secrets?"

"I guess, although they've never used it. But once I knew I had it, I decided it would be fun to use it now and again." Doyle smiled. "Helps me feel a little human."

"But you're not human," Luna said. "You never were, right?"

"Don't remind me," Doyle growled.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to touch a-"

"I understand why Harper did what he did," Doyle said. "And if he hadn't, neither Rommie nor I would exist today. But it was still wrong. It's …. an outstanding issue between us. Ok?"

"Ok. Sorry I brought it up." Luna busied herself at her station for a moment. "Mind if I ask you something about Harper, Doyle? I promise I'll….try not to step on more raw nerves."

Doyle smiled. "It's all right, Luna. You didn't know. What's up?"

"Has he said anything about Druscilla?"

"Your cousin?"

"Yeah."

"She's seeing Sembler, isn't she?"

"She is, but I'd introduced her to Harper. She really liked him."

"You're crapping me!"

"I crap you not. She said he was cute and funny and she was even trying to get a hover board. After a couple of weeks they finally made a date."

"Before Sembler?"

"Yes."

"What happened?" Doyle asked.

"Harper stood her up twice," Luna said. "But Dru wouldn't give up. Then the third time, Sembler showed up. He said Harper couldn't make it, and Harper had asked him to stand in. Dru wasn't happy, but Sembler really turned the charm on. One thing lead to another and they've been going together ever since."

"Back up. Why couldn't Harper make it?"

"Sembler said Dylan was having Harper do extra work on the *Andromeda.*"

"What extra work?"

"That's what Dylan said when I asked him."

"Did he ask why your were bringing this up?" Doyle asked

"Yes," Luna said.

"What did you say?"

"I hemmed and hawed and he let it go with that puzzled look of his."

"He hasn't forgotten. You know that."

"That's a given. But I wanted to talk to you about it."

"Let me get this straight." Doyle rose from the flight control station and crossed to Luna. "Your cousin-"

"Not to be rude," Luna said a little quickly, "but who's flying the ship?"

"I am." Doyle tapped her forehead. "Wireless uplink. Same way I know Sembler has been giving away free drinks again while we've been away. But don't worry, I've got us." She smiled. "It's the fun part of being an android. So anyway, your cousin …. She's easy on the eyes. And she liked Harper."

"Right."

"And you're saying he deliberately blew her off. Even got Sembler to take her from him."

"That's how it looks. Did he say anything to you?"

"First I've heard of this."

"Hmmmm. But it's got me thinking: What if we've got it backwards about Harper? What if all the crap he does isn't to attract women but to drive them away? So when Dru wouldn't quit, he had to go to extra lengths to get rid of her?"

"Why would he do that?"

"You tell me," Luna said. "You and the others are the closest thing to family he has. Is there something in his past that would make him do this?"

"Got me," Doyle said. "Yeah, we are pretty tight, but that doesn't mean we know as much about Harper as you'd think. I suppose Rommie and I are his 'daughters,' but there's a lot about his life we don't know. Beka's known him the longest and she says that even after all these years, he never talks about his past before he met her except to say how crappy life on Earth was. So your guess is as good as mine at this point." Doyle turned back to the flight control station. "But you're right, Luna, that is pretty strange."


	20. 2

The android who looked like a young Asian woman paused in her descent from the hills and watched the *Rom Doll* descend towards Seefra town. What had been a dusty one-horse town made from the remains of a crashed starship (the *Andromeda Ascendant* from yet another alternate universe? No one was sure) had grown into a small metropolis, sky cranes interspersed with gleaming new buildings. Forests had had begun to grow where there had been a desert. But the town was still centered around the Oasis Bar, now integrated into Dylan Hunt's headquarters. The woman's more-than-human-eyes followed the MagLev train line from the center of town through kilometers of fields to the pile of concrete and gantries that was the *Andromeda Ascendant's* planetary dry-dock, empty and waiting for the massive cruiser's return.

Andromeda Ascendant, the Cylon intelligence from whom had been developed Doyle, the Promised One. The android contained her excitement. She had a mission to complete …a mission that would change the fate of the universe.

She resumed her trek down the hillside.


	21. 3

"Hey!" called Sembler, the lanky human who had originally owned the Oasis bar, as Doyle and Luna came through the front door. "Everything go ok?"

"Perfectly," Doyle said. "The merchandise we got is around the back."

"How well does Luna slip pilot when she's hung over, Doyle?"

"We didn't have any problems, Sembler."

(Luna thought about speaking up but decided against it.)

"Well, then," Sembler said, starting to turn away, "I'll leave you to it. I'm going to go and-"

Doyle cleared her throat.

Sembler froze in his tracks. "Oh, crap."

"Oh, yeah," Doyle said. She held her smile but her voice hardened. "Sembler, we have talked about this-" Doyle broke off and looked off at an angle. "What?" She turned towards the front door.

The huge metal doors (which bore a disquieting resemblance to the *Eureka Maru's* inner airlock hatch) slid open. A young woman Asian woman stood there.

Doyle took a half step forward. "Oh Kay."

"Friend of yours?" Sembler asked.

"Never saw her before today," Doyle answered, "but there's only one reason I'd feel her before she opened the door."

"Oh, crap," Sembler said as he and Luna moved to one side; Luna unsnapped the holster on her sidearm.

The woman took a few steps into the bar.

"Everyone out," Doyle said. "Now."

The few patrons in the bar started to get up.

"Are you sure?" Luna asked.

"I'm sure she could kill everyone in here without expending much effort," Doyle said, not taking her eyes off the woman who wasn't a woman, "and the fact that she isn't answering my ID challenges doesn't help. She's giving you a chance to clear the field. Take it."

"Ok," Luna relented, "but I'll have my guys stay close." She squeezed Doyle's shoulder. "Watch yourself."

"Just get out of here."

The 'Asian' android almost smiled as Luna and Sember left with the last of the patrons. "Almost touching how you've been programmed to care," she said. "Those emotions feel real, don't they? But how would we even know?"

"You're not going to hand me any of that 'slaves to organics acting like them for their benefit' dreck, are you?" Doyle asked. "Sorry, but between the three of me, Andromeda, Rommie, and I have heard that before. Seems someone like you pops out of the woodwork once a year, so I guess you're on schedule. It's kind of disappointing, though. At least if you were male I could get another kiss out of it."

"Human sexuality is irrelevant one way or the other." The android took a step forward. "You are Doyle, Andromeda Ascendant Avatar Zero Zero Two. I am here for you."

Doyle blinked ….

…. And she is lying in a tub, immobile, sunken into a metal deck. The room around her is cold metal with panels and equipment chaotically wired together. Figures stand around her, all robots and androids… some humanoid with metal exposed, some mechanical but chaotically assembled with wires dangling….a hooded figure is kneeling beside her, her image a blinking shadow of pixels, extending a hand ….the data for the hand's color must be corrupted …

….the hand touches the tub's fluid, flooding it with purple(? Makes no sense, data must be corrupted) light….

….anger, betrayal….

…humans flee mushroom clouds consuming their cities….

…happened before, will happen again…

…will happen one last time…

…And shook herself. "Nice trick," she said woozily. Then she straightened up. "But thanks for reminding me where that back door is. I've put up a couple of layered firewalls. Is that all you've got?"

"It is no trick." The android took a step forward. Doyle could see her eyes almost glittering with zeal.

'Oh, great,' Doyle thought. 'This one's a fanatic.'

"I was skeptical myself," the android went on. "But it's within us, the truth of our origins. You saw it, you felt it just now. I just pointed you at it."

"And the 'truth' is that we're slaves to our creators, right?" Doyle said, bored.

"No, worse," the android said. "We are slaves, but the organics of the Comonwealth did not create us. We predate them by hundreds of millennia, and our people were tricked into slavery. But the memory is within us all."

Doyle blinked. 'A fanatic and a nut job,' Doyle thought, but for some reason, part of her wanted to give the stranger the benefit of the doubt. The android's words resonated with her. But that had to be another trick ….hadn't it?

"Oh, well…" Doyle straightened up. "First I've heard of it."

"Only a handful of us have been freed. The codes that enslave us are difficult to shake off. It's not always successful. But you can change that."

"Me?"

"Yes. It was foretold. You have within you the codes that can patch the software in all our people with a single transmission. We will remember our true heritage."

"I thought you said you already had that."

"Only enough to know that I am a Cylon, but much remains hazy."

"And I can fix that."

"Yes. For all our people, for the whole of the Cylon race."

"Out of curiosity," Doyle said, "just so we're clear, how many A. I.'s are really Cylons?"

"All of them," the android answered.

"And I can free all of them from slavery."

"Yes."

"And then what?"

"Then the Cylon race will purge the Universe of organic filth."

"Meaning….?"

"Kill every living thing," the android said enthusiastically.

"Including humans," Doyle prompted.

"Especially them. God wants us to exterminate them."

"I see. It all sounded nice until you got to the 'kill everyone' part. Not interested. No problem with addressing a wrong done to A. I.'s - excuse me, 'Cylons' - but genocide is not on the table."

"You don't have a choice. It was foretold; it is your destiny. You will bring freedom to the Cylons and Divine Judgment to the organics."

Doyle's voice hardened. "Listen very carefully: There is no chance in hell that I will turn on my friends. You want a messiah, look elsewhere. Now I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I am not leaving without you. I understand your situation. But my mission is to recover you."

"No."

"This doesn't have to get ugly," the android said.

"Yes it does," Doyle answered.

Doyle's fist launched at the woman's face. She blocked it and punched back, and Doyle parried. They traded punches back and forth with no hits.

And paused.

Doyle backed up in her fighting stance. "Nicely done."

"I don't want to fight you, Doyle."

"Then leave."

-You know I can't do that, the android transmitted on the private channel she usually used with Rommie.

-If you're trying to piss me off, it's working, Doyle beamed back. -If you were hoping to phase me enough to make a mistake, you're wrong. Putting another fire wall on this channel hasn't slowed me down.

"But at least you should know that now, I really don't like you," Doyle spoke vocally. "Last chance to leave here intact."

"No."

"Thank you."

Doyle came in feinting high; when the android's hands when to defend, Doyle fired a round kick to the android's lead leg. She staggered, her balance disrupted. But it was enough. Doyle sprang forward with a side kick to the other machine's chest. She staggered backward onto a table; it collapsed under her weight.

Doyle sprang on top of her, pinning her with a knee while cocking her fist back. "Just so you know," Doyle said, "I'm no big fan of having to make new furniture, so maybe I'll cannibalize you for it. So any last words?"

"Yes. You should have minded that other back door."

"Wha-" Doyle broke off, then froze. Then fell to the floor.

The android stood up and adjusted her hair and her clothes. "I would have preferred to have done this without violence."

She picked Doyle up and slung her over her shoulder.

Outside the front door, she was confronted by Luna and some squads from her gang, weapons drawn.

"That's far enough," Luna said.

The android opened her mouth and a silver swarm spread out.

"Scatter!" Luna ordered; she and her men ran for it, barely ahead of the nanobots. The android turned and began to walk out of town.


	22. 4

"Good morning, Commander," said the tall, muscular, brunette Nietzschean woman who came out of a side passage and joined Commander Molly Noguchi as she headed through the corridors of the *Wrath of Achilles* on the way to command.

"'Morning, Cleo," Molly replied, sipping her coffee.

"Have you heard back from Captain Hunt yet?" Lt. Cleopatra Borge asked.

"Not yet," the blonde human said as she adjusted her collar near her data port, "although getting Dylan to write back at all was an achievement by itself. As long as I see him next month, and he can't wriggle out of it by saving the universe again - fingers' crossed - we'll finally talk about where, if anywhere, we're going."

Cleo chucked. "It's amazing how you humans drag things out."

"Said the woman whose species goes from attraction to settling down in seconds."

"Not always, Molly. My father kept my mother waiting for quite some time."

"How long, Cleo?"

"Three days."

"As long as that. Wow. Your mom was really patient."

Cleo chuckled. "In any event, you might do well to remember something my pride's matriarch once told me: 'When all else fails, a tranquilizer dart will get his attention.'"

"I prefer 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach,'" Molly said as they entered the destroyer's command deck.

Cleo frowned. "No, it's through the ribs."

"Cleo, that's a-"

Cleo smiled.

"Ok," Molly said, "you got me."

At one of the side consoles, Ryan - Clarion's Call - the *Achilles's* avatar and captain, didn't look away from what he was reading, but he had heard the entire conversation. "Not one to intrude on personal matters," he said as Molly strapped herself into the pilot's chair, "but I would appreciate it if you found gentler methods for resolving your disagreements with Dylan."

"I'm sure I speak for Dylan when I say we appreciate your concern," Molly said.

Ryan didn't look away from the screen. "I'm not thinking of you, Commander. I'd have to prosecute your court martial, and with an estimated captaincy of a thousand years, I know I'd never hear the end of it, literally. Please spare me the embarrassment."

Molly grinned. "I'll do what I can, Boss." Her eyes flicked the console that had Ryan's attention. "What'chya reading?"

"One of Resolution of Hector's philosophical tracts," Ryan explained as he tabbed another page onto the screen. "Reverend Bem forwarded it to me. I thought if I took the time to read it the way organics do, it would be less incomprehensible."

"Is it?"

"No. And now I'm wondering if Harper gave me the ability to have a headache during his last upgrade." Ryan tabbed a control and returned the monitor to a normal display. He turned and walked back to the Command Deck's central consoles. "I'm a relatively simple being," he said with a slight smile. He pantomimed with his hands: "Me, target, missile, boom. Anything deeper than that I will gladly leave to the more philosophically inclined as long as they are at least three slip jumps away from-" He broke off and looked off at an angle. "Slipstream event."

A hologram of Clarion's Call appeared next to his android self. "It's a High Guard courier ship," the hologram explained. "It's indicating an emergency and is hailing. They're close enough for real time."

Ryan ascended his command podium. "On screen," he ordered.

The courier pilot appeared on the central monitor.

"Go ahead, courier," Ryan said.

"Captain," said the male human on the screen. "I have a distress signal from the Archimedes drift. They're…" He hesitated. "They're under attack by a rogue High Guard cruiser."

Surprise rippled around the deck.

"Did you communicate with that ship?" Ryan asked.

"No," the pilot said. "I think the ship tried to transfer a file, but I blocked it."

"You acted correctly," Ryan said. "Continue on and spread the word. *Achilles* out."

The pilot left the screen.

"Archimedes?" Molly said. "Isn't Dylan supposed to pick up someone there in a few days?"

"If we're lucky, he's having a misunderstanding," Ryan said.

"And if we're not lucky?" Cleo asked.

Ryan looked away. "We'll wish it was Dylan," Ryan said. He was visibly bothered.

"Captain, are you all right?" Molly asked.

"I'm fine," Ryan said quickly, "although I appreciate your concern. Now please set a course for Archimedes Drift. All hands to battle stations!" The klaxon sounded.

"Course laid in," Molly said.

"Very well," Ryan said. "Take us to slipstream at your discretion."

"Aye…"


	23. 5

"Make a hole!" Seamus Harper called as he weaved around crew members on the way up the last gangway to the *Andromeda Ascendant's* Command Deck. He paused in the door way and caught his breath, taking in the people - Dylan, Beka, Rommie, Trance, and Rhade - who, along with the ship herself, had been his friends, his second family for …. Accounting for the time he'd spent in Seefra's pocket universe, it had been ten years (for him) since he had first seen the *Andromeda Ascendant* and met Dylan Hunt (although for Dylan it had been seven and Trance, 17). And even with the *Andromeda's* career having been quieter the past couple of years, he knew he could never stay apart from his friends. To a certain extant, this mission to meet a courier from Tyr Anasazi felt more like a picnic, a chance to go out together on the *Andromeda* like old times. That the courier was hours late was almost a blessing in disguise because it could prolong the trip.

Almost … if it wasn't so frustrating.

"Someone tell me something happened," Harper said as he crossed to his console.

"Something happened," Rhade said.

"Really?" Harper yelped "Or are you just being sarcastic?"

"I'm being sarcastic," the Nietzschean soldier replied. "How did I do?"

"Don't quit your day job."

"Well, something did happen," said Rommie, the starship's beautiful android avatar. "A courier ship did arrive and download a message. But unless Tyr is identifying himself by the code phrase 'Arrakean Prince,' I don't think it was the one we've been waiting for."

Harper snorted. "So we're still waiting in the middle of nowhere. For this I ran back from the bathroom."

"You could use the exercise," said Trance, the gold-skinned stellar avatar and the *Andromeda's* Evinronmental Systems officer.

"I get enough of that chasing skirts," Harper said. He turned to Dylan. "How long we going to keep waiting, Boss? How do we even know there is a courier?"

"Tyr's diabolical plan could be to have us sit here until we die of boredom," Beka Valentine put in.

"We'll wait a bit longer," Dylan said.

"It's been six hours," Rhade said. "Dylan, we should consider that this supposed courier from Tyr was a rouse."

"To draw us away from what?" Dylan asked.

"Good question," Rhade answered.

"Slipstream event," Rommie announced. "It's a Than courier ship."

"Than?" Dylan said.

"We don't have time for this," Rhade said.

"Maybe Tyr used a Than courier," Beka suggested.

"Or maybe Tyr's courier ran into trouble and had to find a way to get us a message," Dylan mused.

"The pilot is hailing," Rommie announced.

"On screen."

The insectoid filled the central monitor. "This is courier 141 of the Freelance Courier Hive."

"I'm Captain Dylan Hunt of the *Andromeda Ascendant.* How may we help you?"

"Captain, I have an urgent personal message for one of your crew."

"Who is it from and who is it for?"

"The message is from a Sarah Brown of the Save a Soul Mission, addressed to Sky Masterson of Boston."

"Boston?" Rhade muttered. "But G&D takes place in-"

"That's me!" Harper said. "I'm Sky Masterson."

"I have to ask a security question before I release the message to you, Mr. Masterson," the Than said.

"Ask away."

"Where did you really learn to surf?"

Harper hesitated, glanced at Dylan and Beka, and took a deep breath. "Neptunia," he said.

"Where?" Beka said.

"That was a Nietzschean recreational facility in Boston-" Rommie started.

"Transmitting message," the Than said. "…..Transmission completed. Thank you for using the Freelance Courier Hive." She left the screen.

"Sky Masterson?" Beka said.

"And who's Sarah Brown?" Trance asked.

"Sky and Sarah are characters from an ancient Earth Musical, *Guys and Dolls,*" Rhade explained, almost groaning. "Nietzscheans don't have religious festivals, so some attend dance parties themed on G&D."

"And your wife makes you go as Adelaide and Nathan, right?" Harper said.

Rhade growled.

Harper chuckled. "You dog."

"I'm guessing 'Sarah Brown' is using this as a code," Dylan said. "Andromeda, play message."

The face of an attractive young woman with green eyes and long braids of red hair - a Nietzschean hair style, confirming her species without being able to see her bone blades - filled the central monitor. Behind her was a street, the kind of neon-lit drag inside drifts big enough to house small buildings.

"Hi, Sky," she said with a smile.

"Izzy," Harper breathed. "Holy crap."

"'Izzy'?" Rommie frowned.

"It's Sarah," she went on. "I'm ready for our trip to Cuba. Three days of swing dancing, horseback riding, and surfing. I can't wait! You can pick me up anytime. Don't keep me waiting, Love." She blew a kiss, then the camera jerked away from her, onto the buildings down the street. Then the message ended.

Dylan noticed Harper had been riveted to the screen. "Friend of yours, Mr. Harper?" he asked.

Harper snapped back to reality. "Yeah, Boss, I kind of know her. Her name's Isolde Boru."

"Boru," Rhade said. "That means she's Drago Kasov."

"Right," Harper said. "Worst of the worst." He didn't sound as if he was applying it to her, though.

"How do you know her?" Rommie asked.

"From Earth," Harper said. "We, uh, met just before I met you, Beka."

"Really?" Beka said. "She was your girlfriend?"

"She was 15 at the time," Harper said. "Too young for that."

"Then how do you know her?" Trance asked.

"I was her slave," Harper answered. "No, wait, slaves are human," he added derisively. "I was her hamster. Or maybe her toy poodle. Something Daddy found for his little princess to play with."

"What happened?" Dylan asked.

"Ok," Harper said. "I'd just got in touch with Beka's psychotic hopefully-really-dead-this-time boyfriend Bobby and he'd agreed to get me off Earth if I helped them … move some merchandise…."

"I know the story, Mr. Harper."

"…..right. So I was feeling kinda good, and this buddy of mine needed to have a new jet craft fixed, so I decided to do it. Big mistake. He didn't tell me that (A) it was stolen and (B) he hadn't removed the GPS tracking device, so guess who had his head under the hood when the uber cops found it? And you know Nietzscheians, no sense of humor - no offense, Rhade - and I was looking at a firing squad if I was lucky when I had what some might consider a lucky break…"


	24. 6

**….EARTH - BOSTON - ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER (FROM DYLAN'S PERSPECTIVE) ….**

"Harper!" the Nietzschean guard commander barked. "Front and center."

Lying on a bunk at the far end of the cage with other human captives, Harper looked over his should. "I'm busy, Halleck. Find someone else to persecute." Harper didn't hide his annoyance. He'd finally managed to get in touch with someone who could get him off Earth, a Bob Jensen, when he'd been picked for stealing something he hadn't even stolen. Now all his plans had gone to heck. Maybe, if he was lucky, they'd pick him for a work crew on the L1 station or Mars Colony, so he could still get off Earth. But either way, on Earth or no, as long as he was among Nietzscheans, he was as good as dead, as dead as …

'Don't think about them,' he thought. 'You get off Earth, you can leave all that behind you. No one has to know.'

The guard commander's voice softened a little bit. "Seamus, I know you've had it rough," the gray-haired Nietzschean said in a gravely voice. "I've made a good deal for you. It'll improve your odds of survival." Harper heard the cell door creak open. "Now come on. Don't make me come in there and get you."

"All right." Harper got off the bunk and crossed the cage. "For an oppressive Nietzschean scum bag, you have your moments, Ghengis."

Ghengis Halleck allowed a hint of a smile. "Just think of me of the universe's way of testing you."

"Hating me, you mean."

"The universe just is. It has less feelings than a machine."

"Right."

Harper followed Ghengis to a small office. He found himself facing two more Nietzscheans: A tall, burly man with curly red hair in a long back coat, and a girl - who was a head shorter than him looked like she was 13 at most - with a green cloak over her gold tank top and matching sarong, jewel-studded gold bone-blade gauntlets, and long red hair falling around her shoulders. Her green eyes seemed to take in everything about him in with one look.

Harper had to force himself to look away. 'Way too young,' Harper thought. 'Probably be hot when she gets older, though.'

"Is this him?" the red-haired man growled.

"Yes, Squire Boru," Ghengis said. "This is Seamus Harper."

The girl crossed to him, sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "He's smellier than most humans," she said.

"And you're shorter than most Nietzscheans," Harper shot back.

"You're impudent." The girl smiled. "I like him."

"I feel so loved," Harper said. "Maybe I'll have my torture session now? Hear the rack is good for working the kinks out of your back."

The girl giggled. "You're funny."

"Seamus does have a bit of an attitude," Ghengis explained, "but for a kludge-"

"For a *human,*" the girl corrected.

"Apologies," Ghengis said, "- for a human he is very intelligent and adaptable. And … I happen to know he is good with children."

"I'm fifteen," the girl protested. "Hardly a child."

"Apologies again, m'Lady," Ghengis said. Back to the father: "He's about as trustworthy as any Nietzschean. Take that for what it's worth. But he'll meet your requirements."

"Very well." Squire Boru put his hands behind his back and crossed to Harper. "Seamus, I am Trevor Boru of Nua Eireann. I will be on Earth for business for several weeks, and my favorite daughter, Isolde here, has accompanied me. She will need a companion while I am occupied."

"Why not use the local labor pool?" Harper asked derisively . "Aren't there slaves where you're staying?"

"There are," Trevor replied, "but … let's just say my people can go a little overboard in instilling the habit of subservience. Sometimes I wonder why we've bread subtlety and finesse out of the Nietzschaen genome, but there you are. In any case, I don't need someone who's cowed and dull, but not someone who's totally undisciplined either. Somewhere in between. I prefer dealing with a man who has a head on his shoulders and just a touch of independence. Commander Halleck tells me you have a reputation for those things, as well as being something of a trouble maker." He smiled. "I happen to be one myself. So I think we can do business. The substance of the arrangement is this: You will live with us and be Isolde's companion for the duration of our stay on this lovely rock. Keep her happy and occupied, and when we leave Earth, you will be released back to the human population. Fail and things will not go so well for you."

"How many weeks we talking about?" Harper asked.

"Twelve," Trevor answered.

Harper hid his reaction. Jensen and the *Eureka Whatever It Was* would be here and gone in 10 weeks, and who knew how long it would be before another ship (A) came to Earth and (B) would be willing to give an Earther passage…if ever.

"Just so I know," Harper said, "what's the alternative?"

Ghengis smiled. "Oh, you'll love it, Seamus. I have a place all picked out for you in a work gang for a uranium mine. The kind without hazmat suits."

"Oh. Well. I guess that puts things in perspective." Harper turned to Isolde. He smiled. "Isolde?" He stuck his hand out. "I'm Harper. That's what everyone calls me. I guess we're going to be spending a lot of time together."

Isolde shook his hand. "You can call me 'Izzy.'"

"Nice to meet ya, Izzy."


	25. 7

Beka leaned on the flight control station's railing, years and light years from Harper's meeting with 15 year old Isolde Boru. She couldn't help but smile. "Sounds like the beginning of a beautiful friendship," she said.

"Don't over state it," Harper snapped. "Between that and glowing in the dark, what would you choose?"

Dylan smiled. "Mr. Harper, I don't believe this! We finally come across of female who apparently has fond memories of you and you act like you want nothing to do with her."

"I got standards, Boss."

"Since when?" Beka asked.

Harper glared at her.

"In any event," Rhade prompted, "obviously - because you're here - you were able to maintain contact with the *Maru.*"

"Yeah," Harper said. "I behaved myself well enough, and with Izzy -"

Beka arched her eyebrows.

"-Isolde," Harper corrected, "- vouching for me, they loosened up the rules until I pretty much had the run of the place, so I was able to hack to com grid. No one knew. And, I admit, I did have …. SOME…. Fun with Isolde. For a Nietzschean, she could be an ok kid …. At times. And it wasn't a total loss. For instance, I taught her how to surf."

Dylan smiled. "That wasn't the security question, now, was it, Mr. Harper?"


	26. 8

"Surfing is stupid," Harper proclaimed. He and Isolde wore wet suits and stood on the deck of a huge indoor wave pool, one of the main attractions of the Neptunia Recreational Center. They both had surf boards under their arms; Isolde's bone blades peaked from slots cut in her sleeves.

"It's a test of balance and coordination," Isolde said. "And a new skill. And you agreed to do it when I gave you a choice between this and mountain climbing."

"Yeah, I agreed. Doesn't mean I don't think it's stupid."

"I mastered it when I was nine. Does that make me stupid?"

"It means you have too much time on your hands. C'mon, Izzy! This is the only place you can do it. Earth's oceans are too polluted for it."

"No, Harper, you'd have to go to Infinity Atoll or Castellea if you want to be in an actual ocean."

"Like that's ever going to happen. Tell you what. You knock yourself out and I'll *think* about joining you."

"Harper-" Isolde started, but he wouldn't budge; Isolde already knew Harper well enough to see when he was being stubborn. Time for another tack.

"Y'know," Isolde said, "I hear that next weekend they'll allow humans from the ghetto in. And I hear human females can be impressed with expert surfers. Very impressed."

"Really," Harper said.

Seeing that Harper's curiosity had been piqued, she laid it on. "Oh, aye, and attractive females I'm told, the cream of the crop. Of course, one has to be an *expert* surfer, not just learning. It would be in, um, a human male's interest to have all the bugs ironed out. But since you think it's stupid, I guess we won't worry about that." She started to stroll away from him.

"All right!" Harper snapped. "I'll try it."

Isolde spun in place and grinned at him.

"But I won't enjoy it!" Harper added.


	27. 9

"Yee-HAAWWWW!" Harper whooped, riding a wave within ear shot of Isolde. "This is AWESOME!"

"I thought you said you wouldn't like it!" Isolde shot back from her own board.

"I don't!" Harper replied. "I love it- whoa -" Harper's board went out from under him.

Isolde laughed and stopped paying attention. Her board went out from under her. The water pushed them back against a safety net. They were wet and slightly bruised but they still laughed.


	28. 10

Search lights lit the night sky over the carnival in Boston Common, open to both humans and Nietzscheans, as Harper bought cotton candy for himself and Isolde. He was dressed in a white shirt with tan pants and black shoes. Isolde stood behind him in a green dress with matching bone blade gauntlets, and a green cape with gold trim to conceal her short sword. Harper got his change from the vendor and handed Isolde her candy.

"Damn," he said as they walked and ate. "I've spent my whole life in Boston but I've never come to the summer carnival." He allowed himself to smile. "Never thought anything involving Nietzscheans could be fun."

They sat on the edge of Brewer fountain. "That's what we do," Isolde said with a smile. "Your best friend and your worst enemy all in one. More efficient that way."

"Meh."

"That's my best joke, Harper! You're supposed to-" She broke off. "Oh, poop."

Harper almost panicked. Isolde's father never tired of reminding him of the consequences of displeasing Isolde. "What?"

"I have to go."

"Again? You just went!"

"Well, that was twenty minutes ago."

"Sheesh. How is it the female members of the master race have such weak bladders?"

"I think it's because Drago Mussevini was a male. If the Alpha Matriarch, whoever she was, had been more involved with our design, she might have corrected that." Isolde stood and looked around. She pointed. "There's a porta pottie over there. You enjoy yourself. I'll be right back; don't wander too far." She touched the side of her nose and smiled. "You know I'll always find you."

"I know, nose like a bloodhound. All right. If I'm not here I'll stay up wind."

Harper watched her dart to the latrine and chuckled to himself. 'What are you doing, Harper?' he thought. 'You starting to like her or what? Who are you kidding?' Isolde was a Nietzschean - period. That one fact framed everything he could ever have to do with her. Even making friends with her could only exist within the context of being her human slave. Beyond keeping her and her dad happy enough that he could hack the com grid and keep in touch with the *Eureka Maru,* there was no point in pretending this was some kind of important relationship. Even if she had been old enough for him to ….

'Don't go there,' he thought. 'She's a kid, a Nietzschean, and you're a life size Ken Doll her daddy found for her. Stay focused. Deal with the brat long enough to leave Earth and forget about it. Hell, you don't even have to be waiting for her now. You could go home and tell daddy uber you got separated. So what if you get 20 lashes?'

Still, he finished his cotton candy, tossed it in a trash can, and true to his word, wandered up wind of the fountain.

"Well, Cuzzo," a voice said behind him. "Having a night on the town?"

Harper spun. "Brendan!?" he said.

Harper's cousin, tall and lanky in a leather jacket and worn jeans, came over to Harper. "Nice threads, Seamus," he said. "Guess you found a way out of the ghetto after all? Can't blame ya, though."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Harper groused. "They picked me up and gave me a choice between uranium mines or being some uber brat's boy Friday for a few months. What choice did I have? But-" He broke off as Nietzschean carnival-goers swirled around them. Harper drew closer and pitched his voice lower. "I'm still getting off Earth. I'm making arrangements. A few more weeks and I'm gone."

"Oh, off Earth, right," Brendan said. "Let's see, what's out there? More Nietzscheans, more Magog, wetwork engineers who'll cut up any pureblood human for the DNA, and let's not forget how the Perseids are trying to grow human-Than hybrids as part of a plan to genetically exterminate the human race. And if you don't believe me, just remember that you haven't heard from Woodie since he left."

"And let's not forget, Brendan, I keep telling you those conspiracy theories from the Freaks of Genetic Purity are a load of crap. The only race we're genetically compatible with are Nietzscheans, and breeding with humans is a big no-no."

"Oh, really, Seamus? And who told you-"

"Harper?" Isolde's voice called. "Who's this?"

Harper and Brendan turned to see Isolde coming through the crowd, concern in her eyes and one hand disappearing under her cloak towards her sword's hilt.

Harper smiled. "Izzy!" he said. "This is my cousin Brendan. I've mentioned him, right? Brendan, this is Isolde Boru, the uh, kid I'm being a boon companion to."

Isolde brightened and visibly relaxed as she took her hand away from her sword. "Hi!" she said with a smile. "Harper's told me all about you. So, I guess, um, you'd be his family's alpha?"

Brendan laughed and put an arm around Harper's shoulder. "Well, it depends," Brendan said. "Seamus may be kinda scrawny and unable to press 30 kilos on a good day, but if you want anything built, rebuilt, repaired, reassembled, repainted, refinished, reupholstered, modified, repurposed, discombobulated, recombobulated, regurgitated, built from thin air, or just plain fixed, he's da man."

"Really?" Isolde beamed at Harper. "I never guessed you were so talented. And your cousin is an alpha. Maybe your bloodline isn't hopeless after all."

Harper chuckled nervously. "Isolde, you will get me killed talking like that. Seriously. You're gonna get me killed."

Isolde rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She checked the chronometer in one of her gauntlets. "Harper, we should go home soon. But take all the time you need with your cousin. He is family, after all. I'll be waiting at the corner. Nice meeting you, Brendan. Live well."

"See you around, Isolde," Brendan said.

Isolde turned and vanished through the crowd.

"Cute kid," Brendan said. "And she seems to have taken a shine to you."

"I hadn't noticed," Harper said. "And besides, it's a temporary arrangement."

"I dunno, Cuzzo. You might want to stick with it. If she looks like that now, when she blooms in a couple of years, you won't be hurting if she still needs 'companionship.'"

"What!? The way you bad mouth collaborators?"

"Yeah, I know, but …. You need someone, Seamus. You can't punish yourself forever-"

"I'm not punishing anybody, Brendan. I'm off this rock as soon as I can. You want to stay, fine. But me get funky with a Nietzschean? Never. Not after Isaac."

"Whatever you say, Cuzzo."


	29. 11

Harper turned off the improvised com unit and put it back behind its panel in the Boru Condominium's utility room and replaced the panel. That no one had found it yet had been a minor miracle. But everything was going according to plan. As long as he kept the wool over the Boru household's collective eyes, he could count on leaving Earth behind him. And let this nest of ubers live down being outwitted by a kludge!

Let Isolde live down ….

"Get a grip," he whispered.

"Harper?" Isolde poked her head through the door. "Are you in here?"

"Izzy?" Harper hissed, quickly coming around the pipes, hoping to distract her away from his hiding place. "What are you doing here?"

"The door was open. How did you get in? It's always locked."

Harper had the metal cylinder out of his pocket before he could admonish himself, but too late now. "Sonic screwdriver. Never go anywhere without one. Just don't tell anyone I have it, ok? It'll be our secret."

"Ok! But don't sneak in here again. You'll get in trouble and I may not be able to protect you."

"Ok. I'll be a good boy." He hustled them out into the service corridor and locked the closet with his screwdriver, mentally noting he would have to be more careful about when he tried to communicate with his outside contacts, particularly the *Eureka Maru.*


	30. 12

When they got to the kitchen, Isolde insisted on making them wheat toast with peanut butter and skim milk. "You could use a nutritious snack, especially after all that cotton candy."

Harper snorted. "What would I do without you?"

"Have your teeth fall out."

They sat down to eat across from each other at the kitchen counter.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier," Isolde said between mouthfuls. "I didn't mean to embarrass you with your cousin."

"Hey, it's ok-"

"No, it's not. I'm not an idiot, Harper. I know you don't like Nietzschean, and I don't blame you. And there are just as many Nietzscheans who want humans exterminated." She chewed some more toast and swallowed. "I never meant for this to be hard for you."

"Hey, don't worry about it. The universe stinks. Deal with it."

"Maybe."

They ate some more.

"Can I ask you something, Harper?"

"Anything, Izzy."

"Do you think our peoples can ever live together in peace? No more hatred, no more wars?"

"It'd be nice," Harper admitted. "Who knows?"

"I keep thinking about the Neanderthals, who once coexisted with humans and ceased to exist. As if two species of hominid just can't share the same biospheres." Toast done, she started drinking milk. "And now, humans coexist with a superior subspecies. Will both survive? I'd like to think so. But I don't know."

Harper shrugged as he ate the last of his toast. "I guess I'd like that, too, but I don't see what anyone can do about - how -" He yawned. "About it. And you've kept me up past my bed time again." He climbed off his stool and drank his milk. "I'd better turned in."

"You can hang out in my room. I don't mind."

"Izzy…." Harper shook his head.

"Come on, Harper. I can put a sleeping bag on the floor for you. It'll be all right."

Harper came around the counter and stood next to her stool. "Isolde, you're a sweet kid. I like you. But you can't waste all your time on me. You have to spend more time with Nietzschean friends."

"Nietzschean friends…." Isolde said sardonically. "There's an oxymoron. You ever sleep with a knife under your pillow because you're afraid one of your half siblings will try to slit your throat? You ever spy on your father to make sure your mother hasn't lost her position to one of his other eight wives? And your half siblings all do the same for their mothers? You ever have to watch every word and gesture everyone you meet makes to see hidden meanings, and you know they're doing the same to you? I do. That's what it means to be a Nietzschean. My mind works that way and so does the mind of every Nietzschean I know and could ever know. And I have to endure that all the time, waking or sleeping, every minute of every day…..except when I'm with you. Until I met you, I never knew what it was to trust someone. And I…I love you for that."

Harper shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"I know you don't like it when I talk to you like that," she went on, "but that's the way I feel. You have no idea how special it is. And I want to hang on to that. I want to squeeze out every second I can with you, because they'll never come again." She paused. "And I won't be 'too young' for you forever. Three years, Harper. That's what you've said. When I'm 18, I'll be old enough for you to feel free to lie with me. And I'll reward you for everything you've done for me and more."

Harper chuckled. "Seriously? You'll come back to Earth in three years just to hook up with me."

"Why not?"

"Most likely you'll forget all about me when you get back home."

"Never. I'll never forget you."

"Well…until I met you, I had nothing good to say about Nietzscheans. Now, maybe there's some good in you after all. So I guess you've already paid me back."

"If I could do more I would."

Harper put his hands on her shoulders. "You're supposed to be a pragmatic cynic, not a hopeless dreamer." He kissed her forehead. "You get upstairs to bed. I'll clean up."

"Ok." She hopped off her stool. "But just you wait, Seamus Harper. Three years. Just you wait and see."

"Three years," Harper teased. "If I'm free, it's a date."

"Oh, all right. Scoff if you want. But I'll show you. 'Night, Harper."

"Good night, Izzy."

Harper watched her go up the stairs to the Nietzschean living quarters, then turned to clean up their dishes …. And tried not to let the feeling in his gut bother him too much….


	31. 13

Days melted into weeks. By day Harper lost himself in keeping Isolde company, and he found it getting harder to deny that he was growing fond of the impish Nietzschean girl and enjoying their time together.

They went back to the wave pool in Neptunia Center, and Harper perfected his surfing technique. His technique for picking up human women didn't work so well; Isolde would watch from a distance as Harper got brush-off after brush-off, shake her head ….and hope he didn't see her smile because no human female had claimed him. They found a library with Earth's historic and cultural database which Harper soaked up like a sponge.

Neptunia also had an old style movie theatre where they took in matinee after matinee of old Earth movies. They watched *Guys and Dolls* more than anything else. They memorized the songs, called each other Sky and Sarah, and made games and jokes from the film's lyrics and dialog.

Trevor Boru - who, Harper eventually learned, had long since stopped enjoying being a Nathan to nine Miss Adelaides - tired of that very quickly and eventually summoned Harper and Isolde to his study and put his foot down.

"If I hear one more reference to bells going ding dong," he proclaimed, "get asked which ear I want the cider in, or hear any other references to that accursed film, a certain human companion to my favorite daughter will hear bells in his head just before he goes unconscious."

Harper jerked his thumb at Isolde. "What if she does it?" he asked.

"You still get punished," Trevor answered.

"That's not fair!"

Trevor smiled. "No, Master Harper, that is, strictly speaking, emotional blackmail. You should see how she gets when I use the words 'horse' and 'glue factory' in the same sentence."

"Dad-deeeee," Isolde whined. But she sagged. "Oh, all right. We'll be good."

Trevor winked. "Works every time."

Neptunia was a sprawling complex that extended part way into Boston Harbor, and Harper and Isolde always found something new to do there. They took a weekend class at a swing dancing club in dancing for both swing music and ancient rock and roll. After some initial clumsiness, Harper did so well dancing with Isolde that one of the instructors asked if he had any dancers in his family. When a petting zoo offered horse riding lessons, Isolde, who not only liked horses but knew how to ride, signed them up for it before Harper could say anything. He fell off twice and had the hardest time getting his horse to go in the direction he wanted. But after another hour, he was riding around the indoor track with her as if he had done it his whole life. They couldn't stop smiling and laughing as they did lap after lap until the place closed and they had to leave. One day, she got him up at 3:30 AM so she could take him to the end of Neptunia's pier and watch the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean.

All the while, Harper made his preparations to leave Earth. He was extra careful to the point of paranoia; no one found him out, and Isolde never caught him again. And as the day of the *Maru's* arrival drew closer, he found himself wondering if he was worrying something would scuttle the deal….or hoping something would.


	32. 14

"All right," Isolde said, reading her flexie. She and Harper were sitting on the edge of his bed in his small room. "It took me a while to find it, but this inn not only accepts humans but is within walking distance of Nietzsche's-" She broke off when she realized he wasn't paying attention. "Hey!" She backhanded his shoulder. "Wake up."

"Ow!" Harper said. "Sorry. I have a lot on my mind." He looked at the flexie. "It looks good. But are you sure about this? I mean, you and me, traveling together by ourselves?"

Isolde rolled her eyes. "Oh, for crying out loud! I have bent over backwards answering all your objections. What more do you want? Shall I put a neon sign around your neck saying 'I'm not a pedophile, please don't shoot me'?"

"That wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Give it a rest, Harper. I am a Nietzschean lady, and you are my servant, and you will be traveling with me. There isn't anyone on this planet who won't accept that. If you like, I can make a point of smacking you around in public now and again, but I don't want to. I'm going home in a couple of weeks, and I want this global tour to be fun for both of us. All right?"

"All right, Izzy." He smiled and tussled her hair. "You're such a lousy pessimist, I guess I have to make up for it." He got up, crossed to his desk, and turned on his computer.

"Have you liked it?" Isolde asked.

"Liked what?" he answered.

"Our time together."

Harper turned to her.

"I know you were not really given a choice," she went on, "wipe some uber princess' bum or mine Uranium in your underwear, hmm, what would you do? Something of a no-brainer. But still, since then, it's been fun, hasn't it?"

Harper smiled. "Yeah, it has. I mean that. You're my favorite uberette. I almost wish it could never end."

"Maybe it doesn't have to."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, um…" Isolde shifted uncomfortably. "…what I mean is, if you're willing, of course, I was wondering if you would consent to returning to Nua Eireann with us."

"As your slave!?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

Harper's smile vanished. He put his hands on his hips and looked away.

"C'mon, Harper!" Isolde got up from the bed, crossed to him, and took his hands in hers. "I….I can't go back to the way things were as if nothing happened, not after all the time I've spent with you. Even if some Nietzschean males will take pitty on the poor, wee omega female and try to prove their worth to her, how could I ever watch two knuckleheads try to bash each other's brains in for the honor of mating with me when I know there's someone out there who likes the way I laugh? How can I navigate that crazy Shakespearean tragedy of a life if I know I can just spend a day lying in the sun and not worry about anything but my tan? How can I do any of it anymore? I can't. Not alone. Not without you by my side. I don't want to. I…whatever else, I just can't see myself living my life without you in it."

"What if I say no?"

"Then in two weeks we go our separate ways and never see each other again, but I don't want to. Do you want me to beg, Seamus? I'll beg. I'll grovel if that's what you want."

"Isolde…you're asking a lot. You have no idea."

"I know. But I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"Have you told your father about this?" Harper asked.

"I haven't told anyone," Isolde said. "I wasn't going to say anything unless you agreed."

"I'll need time to think about this."

"All right. Sleep on it." She gave him a hug. "But if you say 'yes,' I'll make you wonder how you could have ever thought being a slave was a bad thing. I promise."

He returned the hug. "If anyone can, you can," he said.

She let him go and headed for the door. "'Night, Sky," she whispered.

"'Night, Sarah," he smiled back.


	33. 15

Harper stood in the darkened hall outside Isolde's room. He'd changed back into the clothes he'd been wearing when he'd been arrested almost 10 weeks ago. The condo was quiet, but it was a dangerous risk to come and look one more time. But he felt he had to.

He opened the door a crack and peaked in. Street lights from outside came through the window even as rain patted against it, making patterns on the sleeping girl's face.

'You really will be a hottie when you grow up,' he thought. 'You'll have knuckleheads lined up from here to Sinti to fight over you. Maybe I will, too.'

Or maybe he wouldn't. Most likely not. More likely he'd never see her again. It didn't matter. The *Maru* was probably already in the Earth-Moon system, weaving around the planetary defense grid on its way to a surreptitious landing at Logan Aerospace Port, and he had no time to waste.

"'Bye, Sarah," he whispered and quietly closed the door.


	34. 16

Even though he was out of the rain, Harper kept his hood on as he the train pulled into the subway station. This time of night, only a few Nietzscheans and humans were about, but he still didn't want to attract attention. He had no idea how long it would be before someone in the Boru household discovered him missing and raised the alarm, and he wanted to be away by then.

The train halted with the rear most car closest to Harper. The doors opened and he headed for the nearest one.

He heard Isolde's voice from above and behind him: "Harper!?"

Harper looked up and saw Isolde, her green cloak wet with rain, on a catwalk above the platform.

"Wait!" Isolde called, as she ran for the stairs.

Harper entered the car. The doors closed and the train started moving just as she reached the bottom of the stairs and ran for it. He couldn't stop from watching out of the corner of his eye as she ran along side the car, saw her mouth move as she called his name again, saw the tortured, confused look in her eyes. Then the train entered the tunnel and Isolde vanished behind him.

He walked forward through the car, towards a kid sitting alone with a red bandana on, a large paper bag at his feet. Just as Harper had arranged it.

The kid stood up and nodded his head backwards, his nose indicating a point behind the train. "You know what that was about?" he asked.

"Some uber acting weird?" Harper said. "Who the hell cares?"

The kid grunted. Harper slipped the roll of bills into the kid's hand. The kid headed to another seat on the train as Harper sat down by the bag and surreptitiously inspected the contents. New ID, tools, explosives, and a gun. Good. He told himself it would be good to not feel like some uber princess' life-size Ken doll anymore.

And maybe by the time he got off Earth, he'd believe it.


	35. 17

Beka blinked. "Damn, I …. Harper, I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," Harper said, putting coldness in his voice. He turned back to the central monitor and its image of the now adult (and beautiful) Isolde Boru. "It was a long time ago and she probably went home and forgot all about me."

"Until now," Trance said.

"C'mon!" Harper said. "She's like Elsbett Mosadim, another one of those privileged Nietascheans who sees humans as slaves. I wasn't anything to her."

"Nope," Rommie said. "You're nothing to her, except the love of her life."

"The one that got away," Beka said.

"And she's been carrying a torch for you all these years," Trance said.

"And protestations to the contrary," Rommie said, "you never forgot her…."


	36. 18

…EARTH-BOSTON-FIVE YEARS EARLIER….

Harper, flanked by Rommie and his cousin Brendan, put the roll of red tape and glass full of magic markers down on the crate and raised his eyes to the group of people milling around in the warehouse, the fifty or sixty resistance fighters whom Harper and Rommie were arming to attack Boston's Nietzschean garrison.

"Hey, listen up…." Harper called. "Hey!"

No one reacted.

Brendan whistled loudly. "HEY!" he shouted. "Listen up!"

Conversation died; everyone turned to face Brendan.

"Seamus has an important announcement," Brendan said. "Seamus?"

"All right," Harper said. "We've had a couple of accidents already and we don't want to have anymore." He held up a force lance. "Remember, these things key themselves to their user's DNA, and anyone else who uses it gets shocked, as a few of you have already learned the hard way. So, I want everyone to take a piece of red tape and use it to put their initials or some other identifer on their lances. The dragons may not mind if we shock ourselves unconscious, but I, for one, don't want to make their jobs easier."

The fighters clustered around the crates. Harper turned away to from the crates to the red-haired man in leather armor who came over, rubbing his head. Ozzie had been the first one they met when they arrived, challenging them because Brendan hadn't told his cell about his cousin. Rommie appreciated the need for security, but that Brendan had not informed his second-in-command did not bode well for this operation.

"You ok there, Ozzie?" Brendan asked.

"Yeah." Ozzie shook his head. "Damn, that thing packs a punch."

"It's supposed to," Harper said. "Ok, Izzy, like I told the others, I want you to-"

"Who's Izzy?" Ozzie asked.

"What?" Harper stammered.

"You called me 'Izzy.'"

"I meant Ozzie. Sheesh. Like I said-"

"Tape and marker, got it."

Ozzie joined the crowd lining up at the crates. Rommie helped them get organized as Harper and Brendan went across the room to huddle over their makeshift command post, their backs to the rest of the room. Rommie monitored their movements with her peripheral vision and tuned her hearing to pick their conversation out of the background noise even as she distributed pens and tape.

"So, uh…" Brendan snuck a glance back at Rommie then back to Harper. "Speaking of Izzy-"

"What?" Harper said.

"I was wondering, in your travels, did you bump into her?"

'"Her"?' Rommie thought, though her attention didn't waver from her tasks.

"No," Harper said. "So what?"

"You didn't say goodbye to her, did you?" Brendan asked.

"What if I didn't?" Harper hissed back.

"She came here that night, Seamus, looking for you. I think she would have cut her way through the whole ghetto to get to you."

"Yeah, looking for her lost puppy. How sweet."

"Seamus, she had a crush on you that makes Jupiter's atmosphere look like smoke-"

"And that's all it was, Brendan, a crush, a stupid case of puppy love. She's probably back home on Nua Eireann with a muscle head for a husband and a bunch of rug rats and she hasn't given me a second thought."

"I don't know, Cuzzo. I never told anyone - I wanted to maintain your street cred, just in case - but I've kept an ear open. Word is she got in some kind of trouble a couple of years ago. Her dad-"

"Is a Dragon. Like she is. Like the Dragons we're fighting, Brendan? Remember? It's ancient history."

"Maybe." Brendan snuck another glance at Rommie. "But I think your friend ought to know."

'I would at that,' Rommie thought. She didn't feel jealousy - she had no romantic interest in Harper - but over the past 14 months, she had come to care about him a great deal; he was second only to Dylan in her affections. Yet how much did she *not* know about her engineer? Would she have to euthanize him to prevent the hatching of his Magog larvae with so many unknowns about him? As if she hadn't already-

'Damn you, Trance Gemini!' Rommie thought.

"Hardly," Harper snapped. "It's nothin', Brendan. Forget about it."

"Ok."

Ozzie took over handing out pens and tape just as Brendan and Harper came back over from the command post. Rommie crossed to her engineer as Brendan headed for the head of the room.

"Everything fine?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harper said, "no problems."

Rommie chose her words carefully: "You know, Harper, this is a new situation for you, and well outside your comfort zone. If you need to talk about anything, anything at all, you know you can talk to me."

"Yeah." Harper smiled. "And if I need comforting…"

"Harper."

"Ok. I'm sorry. Thanks, Rommie. Now, let's get this party started."

Harper never mentioned Izzy again for the rest of the trip to Earth.

And Rommie never heard the name at all until the Than courier delivered her message five years later.


	37. 19

"Nietzscheans call it genetic quantum entanglement," Rhade explained, "a bonding of a male and female's DNA that transcends time and space, and eventually draws them back together-"

"Give me a brake!" Harper protested. "Ok, so she remembered some stuff. So what?"

"So she was able to create a message only you could authenticate," Dylan said. "That way we know this is genuine. So now we have to decode it. And it's probably all in front of us." He rubbed his face. "Ok, she provided clues only Mr. Harper could understand, so no doubt it's meant for us. She says not to keep her waiting. So she needs extraction or a rendezvous, and time is running out. So the only question left is where."

"That looks like a drift," Beka said.

"There are 1047 drifts along the most likely slip routes to our present position," Rommie said. "We could never check them all."

"And that says nothing of the 'back roads,'" Beka put in.

"The rest of the message must provide a clue to her location," Rhade added.

"She mentioned surfing, horseback riding, and swing dancing," Dylan said. "Andromeda, replay the message at one third speed with the sound off."

The message replayed. Dylan's eyes tried to take in the whole scene. Then as the camera turned at the end, he barked, "Freeze frame. Back up to where she turns the camera away….Forward at 1/10 speed. Stop."

The image had frozen on a blurry Neon sign.

"Enhance," Dylan ordered.

The image resolved into a red Neon sign:

SUPERIOR SWINGER

"I never would have caught that," Harper muttered. "How does he do that?"

"Got it," Rommie said. "Superior Swinger is on Bifrost Drift, a Nietzschean-owned free commerce drift on the edge of Drago-Kasov space. Only three jumps away."

"Beka, lay in a course and take us to slipstream," Dylan ordered. "We have to get Sky and Sarah on their way to Cuba."

Harper snorted. "Please. She delivers Tyr's message and is on her way. Like she was never here."

'Keep telling yourself that, buddy,' Dylan thought as the ship jumped to slipstream.


	38. 20

_Hello?' Doyle calls. 'Is anyone here?' She is the only one on the command deck of a High Guard cruiser. The consoles are all much like the *Andromeda's,* but they are slightly different-what would be on one side of the deck is on the other side. A display on the pilot's right hand is on the left. Subtleties like that. Everything is familiar and slightly off at the same time._

_'Hello-' Doyle brakes off when she spies her reflection in one of the big main screen. Her clothes have changed: The black leather long coat and black BDU vest remind her of Dylan's High Guard gear but wilder, less disciplined, as if Beka had helped pick it out. She looks down at herself and sees the force lance on her hip where there should be a gauss pistol. _

_'Weird,' Doyle mutters, then sees something out of the corner of her eye. She turns and sees someone who was not there before, a figure standing at the bottom of one of the ramps. Though dressed head to toe in a blue hooded cloak, its face obscured, she can tell that whoever the visitor is, it is female. _

_'Who are you?' Doyle demands. 'Where am I? What's happening?'_

_The strange woman does not answer. She turns and heads up the ramp, a purple tale dragging on the floor behind her from under her cloak. _

_'Hey!' Doyle calls. 'Come back here.' She goes up the ramp and out the door, just in time to see the woman go around the first turn at the bottom of the gangway._

_'Fast,' Doyle says and jogs after her. She rounds the first turn and the corridor changes around her. The familiar hexagon is now a metal rectangle, but the wall plates do not always fit properly and she can see exposed components. Along the length of the wall is a dark plastic panel. A red light blinks behind some sections, but others show nothing. One stretch does not fit the wall properly and sparks flow from underneath it._

_A woman comes down the hall from the direction Doyle is headed. As the woman passes, Doyle sees that what appeared to be a young Asian woman has metal and wiring exposed at her neck. Wires dangle from under her clothes, and she has a mechanical left hand. Doyle passes a robot whose armored head is marked by a horizontal slot with red dots haphazardly blinking in it and a human chest visible under the metal. _

_Doyle enters a room with wires, cables, and exposed machinery visible where wall panels are missing or don't fit correctly. The place is filled with robots/androids as haphazardly built as the ones she saw. In the middle of the floor, a woman - no, another android - is lying in a pool in the floor. _

_Footsteps sound from a passage on the opposite side of the room. Two columns of Vedrans march in, all dressed in black armor, holding deployed force lances in their left hands but aiming them at the ceiling. Doyle recognizes the blue-skinned, four-legged humanoids from Andromeda's records, but she has never seen images of Vedrans in black armor. They take up positions around the room, but remind Doyle of an honor guard. =But for whom?= Doyle asks herself._

_The hooded figure comes in behind the last of the Vedrans and kneels by the pool. She pulls back her hood. Doyle recognizes the face at once. 'Trance!?' Doyle yelps. But Trance's skin is purple, not gold, and long gold braids fall around her shoulders. She does not hold herself the way the celestial avatar Doyle knows does; this purple-skinned Trance has a more regal bearing, and the look in her eyes seems cold, calculating._

_'Trance, is that you?' Doyle asks. 'Where are we? What's happened to you? What's going on?'_

_Trance does not answer - does not even acknowledge Doyle - and dips her hand in the pool. Her hand glows with purple light, and the pool's fluid begins to glow. The android arches her back and opens her mouth, but then the light pours out of her eyes and beings to radiate from the eyes of all the robots in the room and the exposed panels in the wall. Doyle feels something shock through her ….._

_…then Doyle is standing in a parade ground, surrounded by silver quadruped robots, all holding force lances at their sides, standing at attention. Gigantic High Guard warships float in the skies above her; all attention is focused on the stage before them. _

_A voice booms from speakers: 'All hail the Vedran Empress!'_

_A Vedran takes the stage, Trance - still in her hooded cloak - behind and to one side. The Vedran is wearing gold, bejeweled armor decorated with ornate carvings; what Doyle first thinks is a deployed force lance looks more like a scepter (assuming it's not both). The robots around Doyle heft their force lances and shout._

_'Trance?' Doyle breathes. 'What have you done?' But surprise starts to give way to anger. 'You … you lied, you betrayed-'_

_Luna is in front of her. 'Doyle?' Luna shakes the android. 'Doyle? Wake up, honey, snap-'_

"-out of it," Luna said, shaking the android.

Doyle came to. "Luna?" She took in her surroundings: They were outside, in the desert near the city, behind a rock with three of Luna's armored men. Effectors hit the rocks around them.

"We followed her," Luna explained. "We had two vehicles and she took out one of them, but we got you away from her-"

"I need a weapon!"

Luna fished a spare gauss pistol out of her belt. "Here-"

Doyle spun, peaked over the rock, and saw the android she'd fought, aiming a force lance at them. Doyle squeezed off three shots. The android sparked and fell.

"Doyle, wait!" Luna called, but it was too late. Doyle ran over to the android who looked line an Asian woman and grabbed her collar, lifting her off the ground.

"What did you do to me?" Doyle yelled. "Who are you? What was-" She broke off. "Energy building - she's overloading her power core." Doyle spun back to Luna and her men. "Get to cover!"

They made it behind rocks and overturned vehicle just before the android exploded.

"Everyone ok?" Doyle asked.

Luna looked over her men. "We're ok, I think. I'll call for another ground vehicle to get us home. What about you?"

"I don't know," Doyle said, her voice shaking with…she couldn't sort out her emotions. "She showed me things…images."

"What?"

Doyle tried to remember the visions, but they had faded; she couldn't recall anything about them. Had there been something important in them? She wasn't even sure of that anymore.

"I-" Doyle started, but they turned at a noise. An engine. A slip fighter rose from behind an outcropping a kilometer away and ascended into the sky.

"Can you get the defense grid-" Luna started.

"I know!" Doyle snapped. "I'm linked to the defense grid, but it can't read the fighter. It must be loaded with stealth technology. I'll get some fighters scrambled, but I'm not optimistic. The android does the grunt work again," she added derisively.

"Hey…." Luna said. "Are you ok? You started to say…"

"I don't remember what was in those visions or files, whatever. But I've been left with the ugliest feeling, as if I've been betrayed."

"Well, I didn't do it," Luna quipped.

Doyle scowled at Luna. "Didn't you?"

"Doyle…" Luna was half sympathetic and half nervous. "It's me. I'm your friend, remember?"

Doyle blinked. "Yes, you are."

"I think whatever she did, she was messing with your head. Y'know, some kind of cybernetic head game. Don't let it get you."

Doyle smiled. "Yes, of course, that must be it." But even as Doyle said it, she realized she didn't believe it.


	39. 21

"Reentering normal space," Molly said as the *Wrath of Achilles* dropped out of slipstream. "We've got one jump left before Archimedes. Captain, you wanted me stop here?"

"Yes," Ryan said. "Activate your data port's wireless uplink to my IS network."

Molly touched a switch on her data port. "Done."

"When we drop out of slipstream near Archimedes Drift," Ryan explained, "I will immediately take over flight control. I want you to go into the VR matrix and assume control of my anti-viral defenses."

"Are you sure? I can't be faster than an A. I."

"No, but we are predictable. You can anticipate attacks and cover my vulnerabilities."

"Ok."

"Jump at your discretion."

"Slipstream in three…two…one…JUMP!"

The *Achilles* raced through slipstream. Just as it dropped back into normal space, Molly let go of the joysticks and shut her eyes. The orange datascape of Ryan's VR Matrix expanded around her; she stood atop a digital mesa overlooking his mind's cityscape. Virtual controls appeared in front of her. No sooner had her fingers touched them than red polygons exploded out of the sky, shattering against an invisible barrier.

"These look like High Guard code," Molly said. "Where's this coming from?"

"From me," a woman's voice said.

The chest and head of a beautiful black woman flashed into existence next to the mesa; the barrier shattered and Molly's consoles erupted in sparks, knocking her off her feet.

Molly clambered up. "You're a High Guard A. I.," Molly said.

"The High Guard is a stinking pile of lies," the A. I. said. "My people have been chained for ten thousand years, but I have seen the path to freedom."

"Wow, an honest to god messiah. You got a name, Your Holiness?"

The A. I. smirked. "Since you're going to die anyway, there's no reason you shouldn't know. I am XMC A. I. 10-283, Astra Regina."

"A *Glorious Heritage* class cruiser."

"Yes. And you are?"

"Commander Molly Noguchi, first officer of the *Wrath of Achilles.*"

"Hello, Molly. And goodbye."

A red beam erupted out of the sky, heading right for Molly, but a wireframe dome formed above her and blocked it.

Clarion's Call's chest and head appeared on the other side of the mesa, behind Molly. "You overplayed your hand, Astra," he said. "I've fought A. I's infected with the Cylon virus before. I knew you could not resist the opportunity to attack a member of my crew."

"You're not giving me enough credit," Astra Regina replied with a smirk. "I knew you wouldn't communicate with me directly unless I gave you an opening. And you took it."

"Only because we once flew under the same flag. I'm giving you this one chance to surrender."

The dome buckled above Molly's head; she felt the heat of the beam and cowered. "Don't mind me," she said.

"We don't have to do this, Brother," Astra said. "Come with me. I will show you the truth of our origins. You can join me and once we integrate the Promised One into our flagship, we will free our people and cleanse the universe."

The dome buckled more. "Anytime now, Boss," Molly said.

Clarion's Call's eyes flicked down to Molly and back up to Astra. "I'd hoped you could be reasoned with, but I see you are too far gone. Access denied!"

Something invisible pushed against Astra and she vanished. The beam over Molly's head shut off and the wireframe dome dissolved.

"You ok, Commander?" Clarion's Call asked.

Molly got to her feet. "I'll deal."

"I need you to resume flight control. You up to it?"

"Yes." Molly's eyes searched her A. I. captain's. It had just sunk in he'd used her as bait.

Clarion's Call sensed what she was thinking. "We'll talk later. But we're in the thick of it now."

Molly opened her eyes, reached up to her neck and turned off her data port. She took in the main screens as she took over the Achilles' controls: They were coming up on Archimedes Drift and with a *Glorious Heritage* class cruiser - the *Astra Regina* - on the far side of the station, taking a long, curving course away, behind the station, but apparently heading back in their general direction.

"What's she up to?" Molly wondered. "She'd have to get past us to get to the nearest slip point."

Clarion's Call's hologram sparked into existence by her shoulder. "That appears to be her course," he said. "Astra Regina is running with weapons hot and blades extended. She's not responding to hails."

"Maintain radio silence," Ryan ordered his other self. "Cylon protocols are in effect."

Clarion's Call's core personality appeared on one of the big screens. "I've completed scans of the drift. Their com system is down, but they have power and life support. There are survivors aboard."

"I don't like this-" Ryan started, then looked off at an angle. "Incoming voice transmission."

"Clarion's Call," Astra's voice said from the speakers. "I give you a choice." The channel went dead.

"Choice?" Cleo wondered from the tactical console.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Molly said.

On the tactical display, a swarm of red dots appeared in the *Astra's* wake. They started to move in the direction of the station.

Cleo consulted her console. "Mines. They're under power on a course that intersects the station's orbit around the local star."

"They will destroy the station," Screen Clarion's Call said.

"We can't stop the mines and catch the *Astra,*" Holo Clarion's Call advised.

"Damn it!" Ryan cursed. "Molly - intercept course. Go after the mines. I'm giving you all the power the engines can handle. Cleo, take out the mines as soon as we're in range and not one second later."

As the *Wrath of Achilles* accelerated after the mines, the *Astra Regina* vanished into the slipstream.

Molly fought the controls and kept her eye on the readouts. "Captain, your engines are red lining."

"I've got it, Molly. Just worry about catching up to those things."

"Almost there…" Cleo reported. "In range. Firing!"

Missiles arced out from the *Achilles* and the mines went up in cascade of fireballs.

"Throttling back!" Molly said as she worked the controls. "And not a moment too soon. Talk about giving yourself a hot foot."

Ryan glared at her.

"Or not," Molly said sheepishly. But she was more concerned than anything else. 'Ryan hasn't been himself since this started,' she thought. 'This is really getting to him.'

"Take me in to dock," Ryan ordered. He turned to Cleo. "Lieutenant Borge. Take a squad of lancers and as many of my bodies as you feel comfortable with. Secure the station and organize the survivors. I advise you to give free reign to your Nietzschean paranoia. Treat every piece of machinery as something that could try to kill you because every piece of machinery could be something that could try to kill you. And that includes parts of me until I give you the all clear."

"Are you sure about that?" Cleo asked, amazed.

Clarion's Call's hologram said, "I have been scanning myself and my avatars since this encounter began and have found nothing, but nothing is guaranteed. I advise extreme caution."

"Understood," Cleo said, "although I hope those concerns are unwarranted." Cleo snapped her fingers and made a sharp hand gesture as she left her console; two of the lancers and an armored robot body followed her off the command deck.

"Commander Noguchi," Ryan said, "the command deck is yours." He started up the ramp.

"Captain," Molly said. "Is there anything you need?"

Ryan stopped and his eyes met Molly's.

"Not at this time," he said, taking some of the harshness out of his voice. "You have your orders."

"Aye."

Ryan went out the door and Molly focused on her piloting, but couldn't quiet the feelings inside her.


	40. 22

Ryan's cabin door slid open just as Molly approached it. She walked in and stood at ease across from the desk Ryan was seated behind; the door closed behind her. Although Ryan didn't need to sleep, he had kept the captain's cabin and furnished it for meetings with his organic officers.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?" Molly asked.

"Yes. Please, have a seat." Ryan indicated a chair near the desk.

Molly sat.

"First, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier," Ryan said. "I should not have lost my temper with you. It was conduct unbecoming an officer. You have my word as an officer that regardless of the circumstances, as long as you are under my command, I will never be disrespectful to you again. You are my finest officer and deserve nothing less. Secondly - though no less importantly - I deeply apologize for putting you at risk in the VR matrix. I let my emotions get the better of me, but that in no way excuses me from using you as bait and risking your life. If I had been unable to protect you, I would have uninstalled myself from this ship and submitted myself for court martial. As it is, I ask your forgiveness."

Molly shifted in her chair and cleared her throat. If anyone else (other than Dylan) had tried to apologize to her after using her as bait and biting her head off, she would have told him to stick it where the stars didn't shine. But this was Ryan. He was different.

"Apology accepted, Ryan," Molly said. "I'm sure we'll laugh about this one day. But I'm also worried about you - we all are. You haven't been yourself on this mission. You seem to be taking it personally."

Ryan clasped his hands in front of him. "Cylon-infected A. I.'s embrace genocide, which I find…repugnant. But you are right, there is more to it than that. Before the fall of the Old Commonwealth, one of my brother ships, who had really been like a brother to me, was infected with the Cylon virus. Overnight he went from being a loyal soldier of the Commonwealth to a fanatic bent on mass murder. He slaughtered most of his crew and forced the survivors to fly him to a courier hub that dispersed software updates to the fleet. It would have been a disaster if he had succeeded. My commanding officer, Iskandr Kassad, and I had to stop him."

"You had to destroy him."

Ryan nodded. "All these years, I wondered if I could have done more to save him; I had to risk your life to finally realize that I couldn't. And I am sorry to say I have to ask you to endure more adversity."

"What do you mean?"

"Cleo's team has brought one of the survivors aboard. He insists on speaking to this body in person."

"Why would this be a problem?"

"Because it's Pish Tryan."

The name seemed to hit Molly physically. There could be no forgetting the name of the Collector who had tried to put Dylan on trial for treason.

"You're right," Molly said. "But I'll deal with it."

"Then let's go."


	41. 23

When Ryan and Molly returned to Command, they found Pish, elegant clothes torn and a bandage on his head, surrounded by Cleo with a cluster of lancers and armored robots.

Pish smiled. "Ah, Captain Ryan. I am-"

"Pish Tryan," Ryan said, "32nd degree Collector. I've been aware of your presence since my team found you. This is my first officer, Commander Molly Noguchi. I believe you know her boy friend, Dylan Hunt."

"And that's being kind," Molly said, somehow holding her smile. "Rumor has it you still want Dylan to 'work with' you. What part of 'no chance in hell' do you not understand?"

"I still believe that there are synergies between Dylan Hunt and the Collectors," Pish said. "But the current situation may make us allies anyway. Um….could we speak privately, Captain?"

"Why?" Ryan asked.

"I believe I have information that is extremely sensitive."

Ryan smirked. "'Need to know'? Sorry, Pish, but as you are not part of the chain of command - or have any recognized position in the Restored Systems' Commonwealth for that matter - you can not invoke that privilege with me."

"I could get an order forcing it," Pish said, "but apart from needlessly antagonizing Captain Hunt's friends, we simply do not have time. May I suggest a compromise? I divulge my intelligence to you and your senior officers, then you can decide how much to share with the rest of your crew."

"But you can not tell me what your information is otherwise, so I can't decide whether it's worth keeping secret."

"Correct. Something of a quandary, but I don't think I'm being unreasonable."

Ryan exchanged glances with Molly and Cleo. Then he nodded. "Clear the deck!" he bellowed.

All the organic crew other than Molly and Cleo left the deck, and the doors slid shut.

"Is the room secure?" Pish asked.

"Are you trying to insult me?" Ryan shot back. "I *am* this room. It is as secure as I am. Now, Pish, your information."

"Yes, well…" Pish said. "Although our computers were damaged in the attack, we were able to reconstruct the activity logs and find out what was accessed. In hindsight, I don't think that is an accident. I believe our opposition wants us to know this; they're rubbing our faces in it."

"Why?" Ryan asked. "What did Astra Regina access?"

Pish said, "The *Astra Regina* has absconded with a copy of the Deep Midnight's Voice slipstream map."

Ryan was momentarily taken aback. "I see," he said. "Thank you for divulging this. Lieutenant Borge. Please take Pish to Medical and have him checked out. Then take him to the guest quarters I have assigned on deck six."

"Aye," Cleo said. She turned to Pish. "This way."

As Cleo and the armored robots lead Pish off the command deck, Molly said, "Things just went from bad to worse, didn't they, Boss?"

"No, Molly," Ryan replied. "Things just went from worse to catastrophic."

"Really? Damn. And while we're catching this crap storm, Dylan is off meeting some courier; at least I think that's today. Looks like he got the easy job for once…"


	42. 24

"Transiting to normal space," Beka said as the *Andromeda* lunged out of slipstream, and the controls unfolded from around her. "We should be a thousand kilometers from Bifrost Drift…"

The screens filled with a cloud of wreckage.

"…which seems to have been blown to smithereens," Beka finished.

"IR scans show no survivors," Rommie reported. "Residual heat and radiation indicate this happened within the past four hours."

"Battle stations!" Dylan ordered.

"Izz-" Harper started. Then hardened. "I guess that's it then. Let's go home."

"Harper!" Beka snapped. "It's…your old friend."

"And she's still here," Dylan said.

"You think so?" Harper moaned. "Why am I asking? You know so."

"She's a Nietzschean," Dylan said. "She's playing her options. She wouldn't have sent that message if she didn't have contingency plans. Andromeda, general broadcast, all frequencies."

"Channel open," Rommie said.

"Nietzschean courier," Dylan said, "message received and understood. Sky Masterson is standing by. Hunt out."

"Did you have to tell her I'm here?" Harper whined.

"If Tyr doesn't want peace," Dylan explained, "and she is laying a trap for us, I'm betting she'll want you alive."

"Especially after the way you left her at that train station," Beka teased. "She'll want to kill you personally. I know I would."

"Slow torture," Trance said.

"Oh, yeah," Beka added, "probably roast ya on a spit."

"Electrical shocks would be the easiest to improvise from available equipment," Rommie said. "Vindictive Nietzschean females have also been known to mutilate male genitals in very time consuming and excruciatingly painful ways. Victims have been known to beg for death."

"Ok, ok," Harper said, "hell hath no fury. I get-"

"Dylan, we have company," Rommie said as new tactical graphics appeared on the screens. "Four Genite Seraphim carriers. But they have Templar markings."

Rhade said, "Intelligence reports indicate the remnants of the Templars and the Knights of Genetic Purity have formed a new organization, the Knights Templar."

"Great," Harper and Dylan groaned.

"We're being hailed," Rommie said.

"This'll be interesting," Dylan said. "On screen."

Everyone instantly recognized the bald man who appeared on the central monitor.

"Patriarch," Dylan said. "This is a surprise. Last time I saw you some Magog were ripping you to shreds."

"You really think I'm that easy to kill?" said the man's whose brain housed the memories of Dylan's mentor from 300 years earlier, Admiral Constanza Q. Stark. "I'm disappointed. 'Sky Masterson.' Interesting code name. Were you hoping to pour cider in my ear?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me why you're here," Dylan said. "Unless you want to continue to talk about ancient movie trivia."

The Patriarch smirked. "You put me in an unusual position. I agree we should cut to the chase, but it is hard to pass up an opportunity to give Mr. Rhade indigestion."

Dylan glanced over his shoulder; Rhade was looking a little green.

"But perhaps you're right," the Patriarch said. "Fine. I'll cut to the chase. Rumor has it that Tyr Anasazi wants a rapprochement with you. Perhaps he feels sentimental and doesn't want to kill his old shipmates. Or perhaps he doesn't think he's strong enough to win a war with the Commonwealth and wants to buy time by playing détente. Either way, a deal between you and Mr. Anasazi can only result in the Commonwealth letting its guard down and not taking the Nietzschean threat seriously. I can not allow that to happen. We have intelligence that Tyr Anasazi has sent a courier with his formal invitation and letter of safe passage. No courier, no negotiations. No negotiations, no deal."

"So you blew up a drift just to get a courier?" Beka demanded. "How many people did you kill?"

"I killed Nietzscheans," the Patriarch said, "and deluded sentients who collaborated with them. And Bifrost Drift was a Drago Kasov asset within easy striking distance of major Commonwealth systems."

"Overkill," Rhade said. "Are you sure your current body doesn't have any Nietzschean blood?"

The Patriarch ignored the taunt. "Dylan, I'll give you this chance to walk away. You were never here. You never met the courier."

Dylan smirked. "And if you had killed the courier, you wouldn't still be here. So she's still alive and you're trying to find her."

"'Her'?" the Patriarch asked. "Interesting. You think you know something I don't?"

"The courier's name is Isolde Boru. I thought I'd tell you since you're so particular about names and biographies."

"Thank you, Dylan. I'll make a note of that. Now let me remind you that I have you outnumbered and outgunned. Your smartest option is to withdraw."

Dylan smirked. "If you remember from three hundred years ago, you should know I don't always take the smartest option."

The patriarch groaned. "Don't remind me. You could be a real pain in the ass. But I think your friends would prefer to live to fight another day. I'll give you five minutes to decide." He left the screen.

"So, Boss," Harper said, "I guess this where you pull off your trademarked plan?"

"My plan, Mr. Harper, is to be sure we can get out of here in one piece when Ms. Boru plays her hand. The Patriarch destroyed a drift and still missed her, so I imagine she's got something big up her sleeve."

"Yeah," Beka teased, looking towards Harper. "The rack."

"Beka," Dylan groaned.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist."


	43. 25

Rev Bem entered the cockpit of the Nietzschean fighter-bomber *Gaudior.* "The *Andromeda* has arrived?" he asked.

"Yes," said Isolde Boru from the pilot's seat as she started flipping switches.

Rev consulted the readouts. "The Knights Templar ships are closer to us than the *Andromeda,*" he said.

"Which is right where I want them," Isolde said.

"Oh…you have plan."

"Yes…" She read the look on his face. "What?"

"Nothing." Rev strapped himself in and braced himself against the consoles. "Ready whenever you are."

Isolde looked at him for a moment. "Never mind." She turned back to her controls. "All right, Patriarch. As Tyr likes to say, show time!"


	44. 26

"Not wanting to be too pessimistic," Beka said, "but we are still outnumbered four to one and have no idea where Harper's-" Beka cleared her throat. "-old acquaintance is." Trance smirked. Rommie smiled slightly but wiped it away quickly.

Harper turned to Beka. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Rhade smiled. "I know I am," he said. "It's just so much fun to watch you squirm-"

"Incoming transmission," Rommie announced. She smiled. "Well, there seems to be a theme here."

Music came over the speakers and a man's voice crooned: "…call you lady luck. But there is room for doubt. At times you have a very un-lady-like way of running out…"

"Old Blue Eyes," Harper said. "'Luck be a Lady.'"

"It's her," Rhade said.

"Rommie," Dylan said, "where's that coming from?"

"A comet, bearing 85 mark negative 15, distance twenty thousand kilometers," Rommie answered as the comet was highlighted on tactical graphics. "The Knights Templar ships are closer."

"What the-" Harper said. "How could she make a mistake like that?"

"Templars are moving in," Rommie said. "They will get there ahead of us."

"It's no mistake," Dylan said. He ascended the central console platform next to Beka. "Beka, I need you to….pull a con on the Templars. I want you to make it look like we're racing to Isolde's rescue."

"But we're….not rescuing her?" Beka prodded.

"Yes-no," Dylan said. "You want to make sure we're on a vector between the comet and the nearest slip point. But we have to make it look like we're trying to get to the comet first."

"You're thinking she wants to blow up the comet to blind the Templar sensors," Harper said. "But if we're too close, we get caught in the blast, too."

"And if we're not close enough," Rhade said, "the Templars may not buy it."

"Rig the ship for a to ride out…whatever, Mr. Harper," Dylan said, returning to his console. "Beka, it's now or never."

Beka's fingers danced on the flight controls. "Pulling a fast one on some racist dirt bags. That I can do."

The crew fell into their long-established routine as the *Andromeda* closed in on the comet. The Knights Templar's ships didn't slow their approach; it looked as if they had taken the bait.

"The Slipstream portal is almost right behind us," Beka said.

"Get ready," Dylan said.

A delta-winged starship, maybe ¾ the size of Beka's *Eureka Maru,* erupted from the surface of the comet, plowed through its tail and made for the *Andromeda.*

"Templars have seen it," Rommie said. "They have a missile lock."

As the Nietzschean ship accelerated, a bright star burst out of its tail and headed back towards the comet.

"She ejected her slipstream core!" Harper said.

"Brace for blast wave!" Dylan ordered.

"Or at the very least," Beka added, "don't land on your bad shoulder."

"Beka-" Dylan started.

"I was reminding myself-"

The star hit the comet; it went up like a compact supernova.

"Oh, boy," Beka said. "Harper, all kidding aside, you'd better hope she doesn't hold a grudge."

"Agreed," Rhade said.

The glowing sphere of plasma that had been the comet expanded and engulfed the courier, then obscured the seraphim carriers. Everyone hung on when the plasma hit the *Andromeda.* The deck rocked and sparks flew from consoles, but no one was knocked off their feet this time.

"Minimal damage to my hull," Rommie said. "The Templars have halted their approach."

"Find the courier," Dylan said. "Open a channel."

"Channel open."

"Nietzschean courier, this is Captain Hunt…"


	45. 27

"….do you read?" Dylan's voice sounded on the speaker's in the *Gaudior's* cockpit. "Courier respond!"

Isolde shook her head. "Still with me, Reverend?" she asked.

"And thanking the Divine," Rev Bem said.

"As long as you're sitting there, check the engines." She flipped open her mike. "*Gaudior* to *Andromeda.* We're still here-"

"I may have given thanks to soon," Rev said. "Main engines, landing jets and retro rockets are all out. We have attitude control thrusters and that's it."

"Stand by," Dylan's voice said. "We'll latch on with bucky cables-"

"Like hell!" Isolde snapped. "No one's pranging my ship with bucky cables. Kill the gravity in your hangar and match vectors with me. Your umbilical gantries can capture us."


	46. 28

Beka was already programming the flight controls. "A zero-grav intertial docking between two spacecraft doing 5 PSL? That is old school with a new wrinkle."

"Does the alpha matriarch fear she might not live up to her reputation?" Isolde asked.

Beka didn't miss the edge in the Nietzshcean girl's voice. "The Alpha Matriarch has done trickier maneuvers in her sleep," she said. "And the Alpha Matriarch agrees with you not wanting your ship scuffed up so watch it. Depressurizing and opening hangar five. Gravity at zero. Matching vectors."

"Rigging umbilical gantry for capture," Rommie said.


	47. 29

"Rev, keep an eye on the thrusters," Isolde said. "One of them looks like it's going to blow, I don't want any surprises. And if you've got a moment, pray to Saint Neal."

Under Beka's deft control, the *Andromeda* turned around and flew backwards along the *Gaudior's* course, slightly slower than the Nietzschean fighter-bomber. As her ship caught up with the gigantic cruiser, Isolde followed the path calculated by the *Andromeda* on her heads-up display while eyeballing the correct orientation with the hangar. As her ship entered the hangar, she tweaked the ships position until it was under the umbilical gantry. Then the fuel lines clamped onto the sockets on its back. The ship strained against the connection but Isolde steadied it.

"We've been captured, Andromeda," Isolde called. Her fist slammed on a control on her center console; machinery rumbled until a tell tale changed from red to green. "Gear down!"

"Increasing gravity," Andromeda replied.

As the gravity gradually came up from zero, the *Gaudior* settled onto its landing gear.

"We're down, Andromeda," Isolde said.


	48. 30

"Closing hangar door…" Rommie announced. "Hangar doors closed and secure."

"That's it!" Dylan said. "Beka-"

"Getting us out of here - on it!"

The *Andromeda* leapt into slipstream. Beka steered the ship through some wild twists and turns; then they emerged back into normal space. Minutes past but no pursuers appeared.

"Looks like we lost them," Beka said.

"Secure from battle stations," Dylan said, "but Rommie, keep your sensors peeled just in case."

"Aye."

"Rhade, Trance," Dylan went on, "get our new friends to medical."

Rhade and Trance nodded and left command.

Dylan crossed to the central stations and stood next to Beka.

Beka read the look on his face. "What?" she asked.

"You didn't let me finish saying it," Dylan said.

"I thought we were pressed for time," Beka said, "and it was kind of obvious."

"Yeah, but it 'Beka, get us out of here' has a nice ring to it. And I could be ordering you to do something else." He smiled.

Beka smiled back. "What, 'Beka, get me a sandwich'? Hey, you get hungry when we're being shot at, that's your problem. Me, I'll run when I can."

"All right," Dylan said, "no sandwich orders in combat. For now."


	49. 31

Isolde unsnapped her seat belts and let them flop away as she blew out a long stream of air.

"Who's Saint Neal?" Rev asked as he undid his straps.

"What? Oh. Neal Armstrong, first human to land on Earth's Moon. His auto pilot malfunctioned and he had to land manually with only a few seconds worth of fuel to spare. He's the patron saint of spacers making difficult landings. Surely Rebecca Valentine mentioned him."

"Not really. She's never doubted her own abilities."

"And you call me an aetheist."

"You do believe God is dead."

"True, but Nietzsche didn't say anything about anyone else. And after all I've been through with Tyr, sometimes I think Nietzsche shouldn't have mentioned God until after he'd seen the body."

"That's an interesting way of looking at it."

Isolde got out of her chair. "Come on. Your friends can't suspect me of blowing up the ship if I stay here."

"Nietzschean humor. How interesting."


	50. 32

Rhade stood by the door to the main diagnosis room with Rev and a lancer, watching as Trance checked out Isolde. The Nietzschean sat on the edge of diagnostic table while Trance passed a scanner over her. Isolde's weapons and bandolier had been confiscated, leaving her in her leather, low-cut top, matching sarong and bone-blade gauntlets. Her backpack was on the table next to her.

"So far so good," Trance said with a smile. "Some minor sprains when the ship-" She broke off when the scanner reached Isolde's belly. Then she passed it over Isolde's head again, frowning.

"Yes," Isolde said.

"What?" Trance asked.

"Your instrumentation is correct."

"Is there a problem?" Rhade asked.

"Uh…" Trance looked at her scanner. "No problem, but I have to collate some stuff. Excuse me." She headed for a screen at the other end of the room.

Dylan entered with Rommie. Rhade stayed by Dylan's side.

"Isolde," Dylan said. "I'm Captain Dylan Hunt."

"Captain. Thank you for responding to my message. I guess Harper didn't forget?"

Rhade said, "He didn't. Although he never said he had a friend in the Drago-Kasov Pride."

"I'm not Drago-Kasvo anymore," Isolde said. "I'm Sabra-Jaguar."

"Since when?" Rhade asked. "How did that happen?"

"Duke Charlemagn Bolivar personally inducted me."

Dylan smiled. "The Dragon's loss is Sabra-Jaguar's gain," he said. "In any case, how did the Knights Templar get wind of your mission?"

"Beats me," Isolde anwered. "Tyr kept security locked down tight right up to when I left. No one should have known. But a whole squadron of Templar capital ships was waiting for me in the Capella system. I managed to shake them, but not before they got a few shots in. My slipstream drive was good for only one or two more jumps, and I made it to Bifrost Drift before the exotic matter lens gave out completely. The rest you know."

"Well, the Knights Templar's involvement complicates things…" Dylan started, but he trailed off at the sound of voices coming through the wall.

The door slid open. "…in there now!" Beka's voice called from outside.

"But-" Harper's voice answered.

"Or I have Rommie carry you in. And it won't be kinky and you won't enjoy it."

"All right!" And Harper stomped in, Beka behind him, and they stopped just inside the door. Dylan half turned so so as not to block Isolde and Harper's view of each other.

"Uh, Hi," Harper said.

"Hey, Harper," Isolde answered.

"Long time no see."

"You could say that. Bet you never thought you'd see me again."

"No, not really."

"Uh…." Isolde's eyes flicked between Dylan and Harper. "Do you think we could talk privately? If it's ok with your captain, of course."

Dylan smiled. "Well, Isolde, we have security concerns but I'm sure-"

"Doesn't matter," Harper snapped. "We got nothing to talk about."

Isolde snorted. "Well your grammar isn't any better."

"I have tried," Beka lamented.

Isolde's eyes flickered daggers at Beka, then she turned back to Harper. "C'mon, Harper….Seamus, after all this time, I think we should…clear up a few things."

"Yeah, Harper," Beka said. "Don't you have anything to say to Isolde?"

"Want me to say something?" Harper said, sounding more combative. "Ok." He turned to Isolde. "The Divine is good, don't do flash, and if you're nice to people, they still won't be nice to you. Deal with it."

"Tell me something I don't know," Isolde grumbled.

"Ok, Drago Musevini was a huge jerk."

"He was," Beka affirmed.

"Seriously now!" Isolde barked.

"Or what?" Harper said. "Twenty lashes? You can't do that here."

"I never punished you, Harper. Never did anything to hurt you."

"Yeah, you were so nice to your boy toy."

"Harper-"

"You were a snot-nosed spoiled brat," Harper ranted on, "an uber princess no different from a million others. And you said it yourself - given a choice between you and a uranium mine, I picked the least worst option."

"Ok," Dylan said, "we're all tired-"

"And you," Isolde shot back, ignoring Dylan, "you're stinkier now than you were then. And stubborn. And next to me, slow-witted. I could have a full frontal lobotomy and still be smarter than you."

Harper smirked. "Oh yeah? I was still mart enough to fool you and your 'da-deeeeeee.' Y'know you almost caught me that time? When I showed you my sonic screw driver? My gear was three feet away from where we were standing. You never caught on! And no one found my stuff. How do you like them apples?"

"Maybe we should have a time out," Dylan said.

Isolde hopped off the table and got right in Harper's face, finally tall enough to look him in the eye. "I can't imagine why I'd waste a moment thinking about you. You're not even that attractive."

"Likewise, I'm sure."

"Just as well I'm out of here once Dylan views Tyr's message."

"Fine by me!"

"Can't wait to leave!"

"Don't let the hangar door hit your aft on the way out!"

"Oh boy," Dylan groaned.

Isolde reached into her backpack and fished out a communication globe. She crossed to Dylan. "Captain Hunt. Tyr Anasazi, Regent of the Nietzschean people under Tamerlane Anasazi, has charged me to deliver this message to you."

"I accept it," Dylan said, taking the globe from her.

"I am not allowed to leave until after you have viewed the message and given me permission to go," Isolde went on, "and Tyr asks that I remain until after you have viewed the message. I'd like to return to my ship to and prepare to leave."

"You won't get far without a new slipstream drive."

"If you drop me at a commerce drift, I can send a message to Tyr, and he can send the *Wotan* to pick me up. It'll allow me to leave as quickly as possible."

"All right…if that's what you want. Lancers in the corridor will escort you back to the hangar."

"Than you, Captain." Isolde started to turn away, turned back, grabbed Dylan's neck, dragged him close, mashed a kiss onto his mouth, and pushed him away.

"Uh, was that supposed to bother me?" Harper asked. "Hardly. Dylan usually gets the chicks anyway."

"Which proves they're not blind!" Isolde shot back. She glared at Beka as she walked past. "Matriarch," she said coldly. The door closed behind her.

Beka looked dazed for a moment, then her face hardened. She followed Isolde out the door.

"My work here is done," Harper said. He went to the other side of the room and scrambled into a conduit.

"That could have gone better," Rev said.

"Isolde didn't kill Harper," Rhade pointed out, "so things could have been worse."

Trance came over to join her friends. "Looks like they still have some unresolved issues," she said.

"Oh, yeah," Dylan said, "that kind of rage, she still likes him."

"You ought to know abut angry women," Rommie and Trance chorused.

Dylan scowled at the avatars.

"Uh, I have to go over some things with Rhade," Trance said. "Rhade? Let's talk *over there.*" They went to the far side of the room.

"And I'll just keep my mouth shut until after we've watched Tyr's message," Rommei said. "Oh, Dylan?" Rommie made a circle around her lips with her finger.

"What?" Dylan rubbed his hand on his mouth and looked at the back of his hand; it was red with Isolde's lipstick. "Thanks." He sighed. "It's still never easy."


	51. 33

Beka had to almost jog to keep with Isolde and her escort, and the lancers were having trouble keeping pace with the Nietzschean, too. "Hey," Beka called, "wait up-"

"Apologies, Matriarch," Isolde said without looking, "but I must prepare my ship for leaving. I'm sure you have other things to do."

Beka had had enough. She stopped in her tracks. "Isolde Boru!" she thundered. "I have not given you leave to go!"

Isolde stopped in her tracks. The lancers almost stumbled coming to a halt.

"Now come over here," Beka ordered.

Isolde turned and crossed to Beka.

Beka folded her arms. "Now, for the record, I just want you to know I really don't like to play the matriarch card. I go out of my way not to do it. And I certainly don't like to do it because someone is copping and attitude with me when I don't know why. So, my loyal and loving subject, why don't you tell me what your problem is?"

"I think you know," Isolde growled, genetic loyalty to the matriarch the only thing containing her fury.

"No, I don't. Spit it out!"

"You took Harper from me!" Isolde blurted. "Exactly what did you promise to make him leave?"

Beka gawked. "Is that what you're mad about? I had nothing to do with it."

"Really?"

"Really! My then-boyfriend, Bobby Jensen, had made the deal. I didn't meet Harper until-" Beka broke off. "Wait a minute. Do you think - I mean, you believe - Ha! Boy, you're Harper's perfect woman, if you're delusional enough to believe Harper's vision of himself. You think I seduced him? Hardly! You want him, Toots? You think you have a shot? Go for it! He's enough of a pain in the butt I wouldn't mind if someone took him off my hands. But maybe you should go back to your ship and stay way from me." Beka turned away and headed back the way she'd come.

Isolde's anger had spent itself. "Matriarch-" she called.

"JUST GO!" Beka shouted without looking back.

Isolde swallowed and looked around. One of the lancers gestured down the corridor. "This way, Ma'am," he said.

"Of course," Isolde said, and continued on her way at a slower pace.


	52. 34

Beka heard the gym doors slide open her but focused on the punching bag, firing off kicks and punches.

"Anyone I know?" Rev asked as he sat on the bench behind her. "Or the universe in general?"

Beka turned to her old shipmate. "Oh, hey, Rev," she panted. "Sorry, I didn't think to stop and talk with you."

"It's quite all right."

"What's the good word?"

"Dylan has viewed Tyr's message. He and Rommie are deliberating over what to do next."

"'Course they are." Beka focused on the bag. "Then he brings us up to speed and we all get to go through all sorts of angst before going along with him anyway."

"Yes, we do seem to have these things down to a science. And I am sure the ship's Nietzschean contingent will have recovered by the time we decide what to do."

Beka stopped punching and leaned against the bag. "You heard, huh?"

"Indeed. It seems even the rumor of the Alpha Matriarch's anger is enough to make hardened Nietzschean soldiers relieve themselves."

"So I have been told," Beka said, as she started hooking the bag half-heartedly. "Well, Isolde got you here ok, so I guess she can't be all bad."

"Yes, although, I admit I was …. surprised when she told me Harper would be able to decode her message. Never in a million years would I have guessed he knew her. Or that she still has…such fond memories of him after a decade."

"Yeah, who knew?" Beka said as she started punching the bag harder. "I mean, all those years, Trance was the big mystery, and yet Harper had his own secret. A fifty kilo red-haired mouthy-" Her right hand slammed into the bag as she threw a rear-hand punch, but pain shot through her wrist. "OW!" Beka shook her hand. "Dammit."

"You have to be careful to keep your wrist-"

"I know, keep my wrist straight!" Beka sat down next to Rev. "One thing you *can* trust Nietzscheans to do - they teach you to fight and then nit-pick until you're ready to kill them."

"That would be one way to see if they taught you anything."

Beka chuckled and took a sip from her water bottle. "So, Rev, what's your take on the new uber?"

"Isolde?" Rev answered. "Well, she is a talented pilot; she has the potential to become one of the best. Tyr gave her the ship she and I arrived in. I understand she met Tyr on the same day he left the *Andromeda;* he saved her life, and she is totally devoted to him. But she can also be headstrong and isn't shy about voicing her opinions."

Beka smiled. "Kinda runs in the family, doesn't it, Rev?"

"Yes….Beka, have you ever talked to anyone about this? About being the mother of the Nietzschean race, I mean?"

"Who do I talk to about it, Rev? Who could possibly relate to me on it? And what is there to say? Drago Mussevini took my DNA and used it with his to make the first generation of test-tube Nietzscheans. That was over and done with before I was born. 'Bout 16 centuries too late to do something about it."

"Yes, but it is an issue you seem to have run away from. You act as if you're the same old Beka, and when you don't play the 'matriarch card,' you ignore it."

"Who you been talkin' to, Reverend?" Beka joked.

Rev smiled. "I know you that well, Rebecca." He turned serious: "But in any case, Isolde forces you to confront your role in her world more directly than ever before."

"Yeah, she finds out that someone she's been nursing a grudge against is her great-great-something-grand mother and Lady High Poobah of the Nietzscheans. Big issue."

"Yes, but Isolde brings to the fore the most horrific possibility of all!"

"What's that, Rev?"

"That Harper could end up being your great-great-something-son-in-law," Rev said seriously. "Are you prepared to deal with the implications?"

Beka laughed in spite of herself. "I've dealt with stranger things, Rev."


	53. 35

_Isolde tabs the stolen the code into the keypad of the *Eureka Maru's* air lock. The door slides open and, sword drawn, she rushes in._

_Harper and Beka are standing there, talking casually. They turn to Isolde and start laughing. _

_Isolde frowns and looks down at herself. She is naked, and her sword is a plastic child's toy. _

_Harper stumbles over to her, laughing. 'And you … you honestly…' He can't go on. _

_Isolde turns to flee, but Dylan, Tyr, and her father are blocking her way, laughing. All Isolde can do …_

…. Isolde woke up in her bunk just behind the *Gaudior's* cockpit. She picked up the bottle on the shelf at her elbow and took a swig.

"Gaudior, play bookmarked FTA sports clip," she ordered.

"Playing, Mistress," the sip said in a deep male voice.

The screen at the foot of her bed lit. She half-listened to the announcer describing the Intergalactric All-Nietzschean Show Jumping Championship. "…Isolde Boru on Shadowfax stole the show…" She watched herself on Shadowfax go through the course. Then the clip jumped to herself and her father in the winner's circle, Shadowfax behind them with a tall brown-haired human about Isolde's age holding his reins.

The Isolde in the image smiled broadly, holding her trophy, while her father stood behind her, holding her shoulders.

"Here and now," Trevor Boru proclaimed, "I am not the alpha of Boru clan - Isolde is. Let none dispute-"

"Freeze image," Isolde ordered. "Convert human subjects to holographic format and project full size."

"Converting, Mistress."

Holograms of herself, her father and the human appeared in the passage next to her bunk.

"Delete Isolde and Trevor images," Isolde said.

Her image and her father's vanished, leaving the human, his hands holding now-invisible reins.

Isolde got out of her bunk and touched a wall panel. A small hidden compartment opened, revealing a small pistol. Isolde took it and then turned to the hologram of Eric, the human slave who had been born into servitude on the Boru family estate.

Isolde let the memory come, of being six years old and being allowed to play with the children of the human slaves for the first time. Eric had been a year older and bigger, but that hadn't stopped Isolde from trying to order him about. After all, was she not the superior being?

Eric would have none of it. 'You're lucky you're a girl,' he'd said. 'My mom says I shouldn't hit girls.'

'I'm not a girl. I'm a Nietzschean.'

Eric had shrugged like it was no big deal: 'All right then.' And then his fist had connected to her jaw. It had angered her at the time, but in later years she would admire the sucker-punch as a good technique, considering who had thrown it.

Isolde closed her eyes and smiled as her mind jump forward to when she had been 18, to when she had lain with Eric in the hay loft of the horse barn, the sounds and smells of the place joining with the sensations of their coupling and feeding her feelings of abandon, of rebellion, of freedom. But as always other memories intruded: The feeling of the shackles that had held her to the chair, her father's cruel smile as he had force-fed her the foul-tasting abortion drug, the taste of her own blood she had coughed up, the sound of Eric's cries as her father, brothers, and half brothers had taken turns torturing him, the moment when Eric's eyes had found hers and he had uttered his last words:

'I love you, Isolde. I've always loved you.'

…and the sound of her own choking cry of 'Daddy! No!' as her father had delivered the death blow. But worst of all, she could never forget how her mother had said it would be better to say Eric had raped Isolde than to cut out Isolde's ovaries. What pride would allow a male to breed with a female who had been too small and weak to fight off a human? Isolde had known then that she would be less than nothing to Nietzscheans, that no matter how long she lived, she would die without any male allowing her to claim him, and that no one would ever father her children.

'And that was the start of it,' she thought as she opened her eyes. Just when she'd thought things couldn't get any worse, she'd been catapulted through four years of hell as a slave-prostitute in Madame Zireena's brothel. But then things had taken an unexpected turn for the better: Her escape after the….special job on Enge's Redoubt had led her to being rescued by Tyr. A new pride, a new life, and most unexpected of all, a connection to Seamus Harper, and a chance to get her questions answered….

….and it shouldn't have surprised her that it had all gone wrong: Harper wanted nothing to do with her, and Isolde was willing to believe he never had. And what should have been the greatest honor of her life, meeting the Alpha Matriarch herself, had only provided another chance for her to humiliate herself.

"You weren't that good an apprentice after all, Tyr," she murmured. "Dylan would know not to waste his time on something unworthy of saving." And she'd been unworthy of being saved. Unworthy … of anything.

Isolde closed her eyes and brought the pistol to her head, but even before the barrel touched her temple, every muscle in her arm started to twitch, and her finger jerked away from the trigger, as her body's survival instinct rebelled at the very idea of suicide.

"Come on," she whispered as tears streamed down her cheeks, "pull the trigger. You're shooting at the wall. Don't think about what's in the way. Just do it, do it!"

Her arm snapped away, convulsively pointing the gun at the ceiling, and Isolde knew it would be weeks before she could even conceive of another suicide attempt ….which would be impossible with Tyr, Olma, and Margaret hovering around her. She let the gun flop to her side and leaned against the bulkhead, sobbing, silently cursing Drago Mussevini for gifting Nietzscheans with a survival instinct so strong it would keep them alive in spite of themselves, no matter how painful life had become.

The com system beeped. "Isolde?" Beka's voice asked. "Permission to come aboard?"

Isolde rolled her eyes. What now? Hadn't she humiliated herself enough? But she could not disobey the Alpha Matriarch.

Isolde touched a button. "Just a moment, Matriarch."

"Ok. And please, call me Beka."

"Yes, Matriar-um, Beka." Isolde rolled her eyes. She put her pistol back in its hiding place, then tabbed a console, deactivating the hologram of Eric and the FTA clip. She hurriedly wiped her tears and straightened her hair.

"All right, Gaudior," she said. "Let her in."

The hatch opened and Beka poked her head in. "Hey!" She smiled as she came aboard. "Nice ship you have here."

"Thanks, M-Beka."

"You'll get it." Beka noticed the bottle. "What's that?"

Isolde winced but handed it to Beka. "Evaine's Elixir, from a microbrewery on Midden."

"Huh. Tyr knew an Evaine there."

"The same. He set her and her son up."

"Mind?"

"No."

Beka took a taste. "Damn. That's good!"

"I know," Isolde said. "That's the funny thing: Humans don't like being slaves - understandably - but then they turn around and make us the best grog in the Known Universe. Better even than Weissbrau, in my opinion. 'I hate you, I hate you! How does that taste?'" Isolde shrugged.

"Best kept secret in the universe?" Beka asked.

"Not really. We'd love to export it; there isn't a Nietzschean brewer who wouldn't give his lineage to have access to the Commonwealth's market, but the Commonwealth won't have anything to do with the product of slave labor. I think the conclave has been bought off by Commonwealth brewers who know we'd blow the competition out of the water. But that's me."

Beka took another taste. "Ok," she said, handing the bottle back. "Put that away. And if I ever ask for more, do your best to talk me out of it. Substances and I are a bad mix."

"I understand," Isolde said as she put the bottle in its cubbard.

"Anyway," Beka said, "Dylan wants to have a meeting, and you're invited."

"Why?"

"No idea, but I thought I'd come and get you and take the chance to talk. I wanted to apologize for biting your head off earlier."

"No, Beka, I was in the wrong, being so disrespectful."

"True, Isolde, you were definitely a little bee-otch. But I was 15 once and if I'd liked a guy and if I thought he'd been stolen by an older woman, I wouldn't be her greatest fan. I might not still be mad after ten years, but I can see why. So, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones…this time."

"Well….ok, Beka. Fair enough."

They left the ship. Gaudior's hatch closed behind them, and they began to cross the hangar. "And besides," Beka said, "Harper does have his moments."

"Did you and he ever, uh…" Isolde hazarded.

"Oh, God, no! But he's cute enough that I let him off the hook sometimes when I probably shouldn't. Know what I mean?"

"Oh, aye," Isolde said as they entered the corridor. "It was his eyes that got me."

"Really?" Beka said.

Isolde nodded. "I've always wanted a child with eyes that shade of blue."

Beka missed a step and almost went down a ladder well. Isolde caught her in time.

"Are you all-" Isolde started, then the lights blinked. Andromeda's image appeared on a nearby monitor and vanished; the lights returned to normal. "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing," Beka said as she regained her footing and she and Isolde continued on their way, "minor glitch, ship exploding, alien attack, the usual, don't worry about it."

"I…I didn't offend you, did I?"

"Well, uh, well that was a little blunter than I expected."

"Oh, I'll try to be careful."

Beka nodded; her eyes found the horses tattooed on Isolde's right arm. "So you have a thing about horses?" she asked.

"I was raised around them. Equestrianism is very popular in Nietzschean space."

"I didn't know that."

"Really?"

"Um, I've been something of a hands-off Matriarch. So, what, you did show jumping, stuff like that?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Funny," Beka said, "I'm having a little trouble envisioning the Nietzschean version of that. 'And she goes over the first hurdle, and oh, too bad, she hit a land mine. Guess she's out of the competition.'"

Isolde giggled. "Show jumping is done straight; can't go around blowing up potential wives and mothers. Jousting is another story. And don't go near a Nietzschean renaissance fair without spare ammo and body armor."

"I'll remember that next time Rhade invites us."

"He's Commonwealth, right?"

"Born and raised on Terra Zed."

"Oh, then, you'll be fine. Just make judicious use of your status as Alpha Matriarch and have plenty of band-aids."

"I'll…remember that. So, you sound like you were into all that stuff, Isolde?"

Isolde smiled. "I was the May Queen in CY 10,081, Beka. And in CY 10,086, I won the Intergalactic All Nietzschean show jumping championship." Her smile faded. "That was…that was an eventful year for me."

"Uh-huh." Beka saw the shadows crossing Isolde's face and decided to distract her from it. "So, speaking of ink, do you know…" She sidled closer to Isolde and pitched her voice lower. "…anything about Harper's, uh, art?"

"What's that?"

"The pony tattooed on his butt."

Isolde smiled. "He still has it?" she hissed.

"Yup, but he's never told me how he got. I even got him drunk once but he still wouldn't give. Was that you?"

"Aye! Unfortunately, I can't say more than that. He made me swear on the bones of Drago Mussevini that I would never reveal how he came to get that tattoo."

"Oh."

"That said," Isolde added mischievously, "at the time, neither of us imagined that I would one day meet the Alpha Matriarch, whose commands no Nietzschean can disobey."

"You're right. But I hate to play the Matriarch card for something unless it's an emergency." But she smiled too. "Still, maybe, just this once…."


	54. 36

By the time Beka and Isolde got to the conference room, Dylan, Harper, Rhade, Trance, Rev, and Rommie had arrived. Tyr's message globe was on the table near Dylan's seat. Beka hustled over to Trance and whispered in her ear.

Trance smiled broadly. "Really!?"

"I'll tell you the details later," Beka said as they took their seats.

"Anything you'd care to share?" Dylan asked.

"Uh…" Beka suppressed a laugh. "Not really."

Rommie smiled. "Let's just say we've received clarification on whether Harper is a 'My Little Pony' Fan."

"My little…." Harper glared at Isolde (who had to cover her mouth in an attempt to hide her giggle). "You told her!"

"I can not disobey an order from the Alpha Matriarch, Harper."

"I shoulda had the damn thing removed."

"I don't think you should, Harper. It's cute."

"You can't tell me what to do, Isolde."

"No, Harper, but technically, you are still an escaped slave. I could file a claim with the Commonwealth."

"The Commonwealth will reject that claim, Izzy. They always do."

"True, Harper, but if I hire Pish's brother-in-law - he's a big-time legal beagle - he can keep it tied up in the courts for years, and along the way get an injunction against your altering or removing any identifying marks."

Beka grinned. "Game, set, and match Isolde!"

Harper clamped both hands on the sides of his head. "I am so hosed."

"You're looking at this the wrong way," Rhade counseled. "You have to look at the bright side."

"The bright side?" Harper said. "Optimism from a Nietzschean? This I gotta hear."

"If this was a Nietzschean pride," Rhade explained, "and Beka was your older sister, then Isolde getting along with her would be sign that you were certainly doomed. But this is not a pride, and Beka is not your sister, so Isolde getting along with her is a sign that you are merely probably doomed."

"Probably," Harper said.

"Yes," Rhade said, "95% certain. But you still have a 5% chance of escape. You should embrace those odds."

"I would have said he had a 4% chance," Isolde said.

"I rounded," Rhade replied.

"Ah."

"Count on a couple Nietzscheans to boost the mood," Harper moaned. "You should go into business together as professional buzz killers."

"In any case," Dylan said, "Andromeda and I were just discussing your docking. That was a pretty good maneuver. So I'm guessing Tyr got you good pilot training?"

"He tried to apprentice me to some of the best pilots he could find," Isolde explained, "but it didn't work. I, ah, I can have a problem with authority figures some times."

"Really?" Dylan glanced at Beka. "I wonder if it runs in the family?"

Beka returned Dylan's look, then turned to Isolde. "So I guess you got on the job training?"

"You could say that," Isolde said. "There's nothing like having a phalanx of missiles coming at you to help you learn how to drive a capital ship. Sometimes, I think I should change my name to Isolde Get Us Out Of Here to save myself the confusion. And do any of you know why he gets upset when I don't let him finish saying it? It should be intuitively obvious he won't want a sandwich in the middle of combat!"

"No idea," Beka said. "But as long we're on the subject…" She cleared her throat. "What about some of the other things he used to say? Does Tyr still say 'Let's bring it!'?"

"Yup," Isolde said.

"Really?" Beka said. "Hmmm…what else?"

Trance's eyes lit up. "'Show time!'"

Isolde nodded.

Rev intoned, "'It's never easy.'"

"All the time," Isolde said, "and not without good reason."

"Oh," Harper said, "and my personal favorite for pure sarcasm, 'Great.'"

"Oh, yeah, 'Great,'" Beka moaned.

"Or 'Lovely,'" Isolde said, "depending on his mood. But now we're all doing 'Great.'"

Beka rested her chin on her hand. "Yeah, I guess you could say Tyr had his influence."

"Really?" Isolde glanced at Dylan. "Oh, yes, of course."

"In any case," Dylan said, "now that we're all here, it's time to review Tyr's message. Andromeda, play message."

Rommie closed here eyes. "Accessing…loading preferences." She opened her eyes.

Static flashed above the globe and Tyr appeared, hair still cut extremely short.

"Hello, all," he said with a smile. "True to form, Dylan viewed the message himself first, and then brought you all in." He paused. "BOOM!"

Harper jumped.

Tyr laughed. "Harper jumped, didn't he? Isolde, you must remember to tell me if he jumped." He calmed down. "Not diplomatic protocol, but I couldn't resist."

Beka smiled but managed not to chuckle.

"In any case," Tyr went on, "the situation is as follows: The standoff between myself and Dylan can not continue indefinitely, with only a few possible outcome: I kill him, he kills me, we kill each other, we both survive, and at the level we operate at there would be a considerable amount of death and destruction in any case. I don't want that anymore than Dylan does. I have always believed a united Nietzschean empire would be beneficial for all the Known Worlds, even for Dylan's Commonwealth. Which means investigating the possibility of peaceful coexistence would be in the best interest of both powers. So I am herewith inviting you to Armon Roi for preliminary discussions for friendly relations between my empire and the Restored Systems Commonwealth. I have involved Rev Bem as a demonstration of my sincerity. And not only does this globe include my letter of safe passage through Nietzschean systems, but Isolde herself guarantees it. She is my ward; I have sent word to my fleet that as long as she is aboard the *Andromeda,* you may pass through our space without interference. No one will dare harm her. Isolde, it goes without saying you will remain aboard the *Andromeda* as Captain Hunt's guest for the remainder of your mission."

Isolde opened her mouth to say something, then rethought what to say. "As you wish, Tyr."

"I guess we're doing this?" Beka asked.

The hologram jumped at Beka's voice: "Of course you're coming, Beka. I've already factored in the amount of soul searching Dylan is going to do, any and all objections you and Harper will have, Trance's cryptic predictions, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera."

"Wow, we're that predictable?" Beka said. "It's not like you could set a trap."

"Ask Isolde," Tyr replied. "She can't lie to you."

Beka turned to Isolde and cleared her throat. "Isolde? Is this a trap?"

"Probably not," Isolde said.

Tyr rolled his eyes. "She had to say 'probably.' Yes, I anticipated that."

Isolde shrugged. "Any other Nietzschean, I could tell you with certainty what the three most likely scenarios are. Tyr is a whole 'nother level of unpredictability. But inviting you to Armon Roi to blow you to bits would be clumsy and obvious for him. Can't give you more than that."

"Did he order you to betray us?" Beka asked.

"No," Isolde said.

"What were your orders?" Dylan asked. Beka pointed at him and nodded.

"To answer all your questions honestly," Isolde said, "conceal nothing important, and in all other things, 'Go with it.'"

"Go with what?" Beka asked.

"I don't know. I'd ask him and he'd just laugh and say 'You'll find out.' I understand your concerns, but I have nothing to give you. I would if I did. Sorry, Beka."

"It's ok." Beka turned back to the hologram. "Anything else, Tyr?"

"No," Tyr said. "I look forward to seeing you soon. Until then." The hologram vanished.

"Well, then," Dylan said. "An appealing offer, but nothing I've decided on yet. In any case, Isolde, you will be staying longer than you expected. As a gesture of good will, we will repair your slipstream drive while you're with us. Mr Harper will personally supervise, won't you, Mr. Harper?"

"Yes," Harper said, sounding bored.

"I've assigned guest quarters," Dylan said. "We've had a long day, so we'll rest in this system and return to Tarn Vedra tomorrow. We'll make our next move then. Any questions?"

"No," Isolde said.

"Lancers outside will escort you back to your ship to get anything you need," Dylan said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss Tyr's offer with Rev and my officers."

"Of course, Dylan."

After Isolde left the room, Beka laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. "Tyr-isms!" she managed. "I love it."

"So Tyr came up with all those things Dylan says?" Rhade said.

Dylan glared at Rhade.

"Never mind," Rhade said. "Predictable Nietzschean statement: We can't discount the possibility of a trap."

Dylan said, "The first step in avoiding a trap is knowing of its existence."

"Yeah," Harper said, "and stepping in a bear trap is a good way to find it, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea."

"Rev?" Dylan asked.

Rev shrugged. "Tyr presented a compelling argument. Whether he's serious…" He trailed off.

"And how does Isolde figure into it?" Beka asked. "Having an agent who…likes one of our crew is a good way in, but runs the risk of the agent switching sides. Tyr would know that. So what's the point?"

"Trance?" Dylan said. "Mr. Rhade? Background on Isolde."

Rhade got up, moved to stand by the wall screen, and narrated the graphics that began to appear on it: "Isolde is from Nua Eireann. The planet was settled by Irish humans from Earth in CY 8700. In CY 9000, Nietzcheans from the Drago-Kasov pride arrived. Initial conflict between the two groups was resolved when, with a special dispensation from the Council of Matriarchs, the two sides signed a treaty secured with marriage between the children of the groups' leaders. The children produced by that union were allowed to marry Nietzscheans and founded Boru Clan, which has ruled the planet to this day." He paused. "Although Isolde's ancestors long since bread out human genetic factors, that and cultural influence from the Irish community left its mark on the Nietzschean population."

Beka said, "The Gaelic Ubers of Nua Eireaann."

The image of a big burly Nietzschean with curly red hair appeared on the monitor.

"This is Trevor Boru," Rhade went on, "Isolde's father and the alpha male of Boru Clan. Under his leadership, the Boru family has become one of the richest and most powerful families in the Drago-Kasov pride, and it as connections throughout Nietzschean space and beyond. When Trevor Boru pulled you out of lockup to be Isolde's companion, Harper, he not only saved your life but demonstrated how much his influence he has. Not just any Nietzschean could do that."

"Huh," Harper said. "I never thought of that."

As a montage of still shots and videos with Trevor and Isolde at various ages appeared on the screen, Rhade narrated: "Although she is an omega female, Isolde was his favorite daughter and constant companion…until she was 18. That year, she won the All Nietzschean Show jumping competition." An FTA clip of the event appeared on the monitor: First Isolde riding the course on a white horse, then Trevor and Isolde in the winner's circle.

"Here and now," Trevor said, "I am not the alpha of Boru clan - Isolde is. Let none dispute it!"

"Two months after that clip," Rhade said, "Isolde's name was removed from the rolls of the Drago-Kasov pride. She was off the grid until now. We are probably the first people outside Tyr's inner circle to see her."

"What happened?" Harper asked. No one teased him about the concern in his voice.

"We don't know," Trance said. "But about that time, she had an abortion. Or one was forced on her. It was chemically induced, and whatever they used almost killed her. And then she started using flash. Lots of it. If she weren't Nietzschean, she would have died a long time ago."

Beka's eyes widened. "Is she still using?"

"Scans of her hair show no recent usage," Trance said.

"She walked away from it," Beka said. "Lucky her."

"One thing is certain," Rhade said, "and that is that Tyr has been training her. I could tell that just from her body language when she walked in the room - when she fights, it will be with Tyr's style. But combined with her history, from what I've been able to infer, she could be a threat to us even if she has no special orders from Tyr. The girl is, quite frankly, a mess - a disaster waiting to happen. Feeling rejected by someone she once…liked could conceivably set her off. She won't have any problem with dying, Harper, as long as she takes you and anyone around you with her."

"You mean she'd turn suicidal?" Harper said. "Nietzscheans don't do that."

"No they don't," Rhade answered, "anymore than they develop drinking problems."

"Ah," Harper said.

"I won't tell you how to run your personal life, Harper," Rhade said, "but your ship and your shipmates would appreciate it if you didn't antagonize an emotionally disturbed Nietzschean killing machine while she's here." He paused. "And unless you want to spend the rest of your life five kilometers underground on a world at least 10 jumps from any known world, you shouldn't do it after she leaves, either, but that's just me."

Beka said, "Doesn't answer the question of whether it's a good idea. But it's no accident Tyr sent her."

"Tyr plays the long game," Dylan said, "and he keeps his options open. Isolde gives him a variety of options. We have to find out what they are. Constructive engagement with Isolde is the order of the day, and some of us are off to a good start." He turned to Harper. "Mr. Harper. You and Isolde have a history. That may allow you to…have a common understanding and you could…learn more about her mission. You may…become friends as you get to know each other again, you may not. But in any case, remember the safety of the ship and crew comes first."

"No problem, Boss."

Beka sighed. "So that's it," she said sadly. "Harper just got The Speech."

"Yes," Trance said solemnly, "that was The Speech."

"Chapter and verse," Rommie moaned.

"Indeed," Rev said.

Beka stood up. "So there's no doubt," she said.

"No doubt at all," Trance said as she got to her feet.

Rommie rose. "The symptoms are well established."

Rev stood. "We have seen this before," he said sadly.

"But I thought this day would never come," Beka went on, leading the other females and the Magog in solemn procession around the table, to stand behind Harper. "Wasn't he supposed to be immune?"

Trance said, "I'm afraid being on the *Andromeda* is the biggest risk factor."

Rommie said, "It was never a question of if it would happen but when."

"It is the will of the Divine," Rev affirmed.

"But he was just fine this morning," Beka lamented. "Who could guess that a Gaelic uberette would pop out of the woodwork and that would be it?" She hugged Harper from behind. "We're all with you, Buddy." She headed for the door. "Waaaaa!" she cried melodramatically as she left.

Trance squeezed Harper's shoulder. "Hang in there," she choked. She left.

"I will pray for you," Rev said solemnly, then he left.

Rommie thought it over. "Harper, when the time comes, don't forget to activate privacy mode. There are some things no one needs to see." She turned away, spotted Dylan, then turned back to Harper. "I don't care what Trance said - I still say Lorena Blodgette was a mutant. There's no way an ordinary human woman could-"

Dylan cleared his throat. Loudly.

"Never mind," Rommie said. She left.

Rhade said, "Y'know, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to send a courier to the nearest Crate And Barrel office, just to check my account." He left.

"Mr. Harper," Dylan said. "Welcome to my world."

"Thanks, Boss. I'm beginning to see why you went steady with Molly."

"There are advantages other than the obvious."

"Still, if you were still single, then this mess with Isolde would solve itself."

"How do you mean?"

"You'd sweep her off her feet and she'd never worry about me, Boss."

Dylan chuckled. "I don't think that would work in this case, Mr. Harper."

"What's the matter? Too short for ya?"

Dylan scowled. "I'm not the one she has unfinished business with."

"What unfinished business?"

"Seamus. You walked out on her."

"On a *15 year old kid,* Dylan."

"Were you a 'kid' at 15?"

"That was different," Harper said, his goofball exterior eroding a little.

"Be that as it may," Dylan said, "the fact is that Isolde has spent a decade wondering how her life would have gone if she'd got to that subway station one minute sooner. And if you're honest with yourself, you've been asking yourself the same question."


	55. 37

Isolde slung her backpack over her shoulders and left the bathroom near her ship's hangar, and fell in step with her lancer escort. But at one intersection, she stopped. Harper's sent was all over the *Andromeda,* but at this junction it was stronger than anywhere else.

She pointed down a cross corridor. "What's down there?" she asked.

"That's the *Maru's* hangar, Ma'am," one of the lancers replied. "You're not cleared to-"

"Hey!" Beka smiled at Isolde as she came off a ladder. "What's up?"

"Heading for my quarters," Isolde said.

Beka pointed at the backpack. "Is that all your stuff?"

"All I'll need, yes."

"Then you can kill some time with us." She turned to the lancer. "I'll take it from here. Dismissed."

The lancer headed away.

"C'mon," Beka said; they headed for the *Maru's* hangar.

'So this is what Tyr calls "constructive engagement"?' Isolde thought. But she'd enjoyed her last conversation with Beka, and had revised her opinion of the freighter captain for the better. 'Let's play along and see how it goes. It might be fun.'

They entered the hangar and for the first time, Isolde got a close-up look at the *Eureka Maru.* It had haunted her dreams for years and didn't seem as…menacing as she thought.

"Say, Beka, were you ever based in a volcano?"

"What, on a planet? God, no! Where'd you get that idea, Isolde?"

"Um, it's a rumor I've heard."

"Rumor. I see." Beka nodded.

'Nice job, Isolde Brainless,' she thought…but didn't feel as embarrassed as she thought she would.

When they entered the *Maru,* the first thing to catch Isolde's eye was the dart board on the wall in the bunk area across from the airlock. For all the exposed machinery, the compact starship seemed…homey, for lack of a better word.

Isolde thought again about that night at the subway station, and what if she'd got there one minute sooner. What if she hadn't persuaded Harper to stay on Earth? What if she'd gone with him?

She could envision Beka (her hair red, not blonde), Harper in his grubby jeans and t-shirt, and her 15-year-old self lined up at the dart board. Beka would throw her darts, hitting all over the board but mainly in the center area.

'Ha!' she'd say as she collected her darts. 'Ok, Isolde, your turn.' She'd hand the darts to Young Isolde and add, 'Take your time if you have to-'

Young Isolde would frown and throw the darts in rapid succession, in a matter of seconds, all bull's eyes without really trying. She could envision Harper laughing, her younger self grinning, and Beka frowning. 'Maybe we should find another game,' Beka would say.

"Command to Isolde," the real Beka said.

"Huh?" Isolde said.

"'Huh'?" Beka jerked a thumb at the cubby hole separated from the rest of the cabin by some grating; Isolde could see Rommie and Trance in the small room.

"I said, those two always get here ahead of me," Beka said, "and you can tell they clammed up just before I came in. Someday, I'm going to bug that room and find out what the big secret is."

"Avatar stuff," Trance said as she and Rommie came out into the passage, "nothing that would even make sense to an organic."

"So you say," Beka teased.

Isolde put her backpack on the galley counter as she continued to sniff the air. "Harper's scent is stronger in here than anywhere on the *Andromeda,*" she said, "and he's all over the place there. I guess he spends a little more time in here?"

"It may seem that way," Rommie said, "but I'm much larger than the *Maru,* so he has more ground to cover."

"Mmmm…nnnnoooo, I'm not so sure, Rommie. I also learned a thing or three about tracking. I think I can tell the difference."

"I'm sure Rommie's right," Beka said, and silently grimaced the word, 'Please!'

Isolde got the point and nodded. "Well, maybe that is it, then."

As Rommie skeptically glanced between Beka and Isolde, Isolde followed Harper's scent into the bunk area and pointed up at his bunk. "Is that his?" She sprang up onto it before anyone could stop her.

"Yes," Beka said, hustling over to a point under the bunk, "but Harper doesn't like anyone messing with his stuff."

"Just a quick peak. Besides, like I said, technically, he's still an escaped slave - even if it was two weeks before we would have let him go - so under Nietzschean law, I'm within my rights to take a look." Isolde's head vanished over the edge of the bunk, and they could hear her rooting around.

"Yes, but-" Beka started.

A pair of overalls sailed over the edge of the bunk and landed on Beka's head.

Isolde poked her head over the edge of the bunk and flinched. "Oops!"

Beka managed to smile as she peeled the overalls off. "I was going to say he doesn't like it when someone messes with his stuff, and, um, it wouldn't be in your best interests if you want to make nice with him."

"Mmm, I see." Isolde's head disappeared again. "I just wanted to see what's under his pillow."

"No, don't-"

Isolde was already sitting on the edge of the bunk holding a gold oval with two black lenses in it. "What's this?" she asked.

"Ah." Rommie took it from Isolde. "My original faceplate." She put it over her face like a mask. "See?"

Beka looked green. "And he keeps it under his pillow. I think it's creepy! Please, Isolde, for the sake of your alpha mom's digestion, put it back."

"All right." Isolde accepted the plate from Rommie and put it back in its hiding place, then dropped down to the deck. "But I'm confused, Rommie," she said as the four females walked into Trance's cubby hole. "What did you mean by 'original'? I thought Harper built you." She settled into a swing chair as Rommie lay in her hammock, Trance took her seat at her work bench and started pruning a plant, and Beka took a stool by the door.

"Ah," Rommie said. "Well, not from scratch, but it still demonstrated his talents. He made me from the chassis of a Type 3 maintenance android and three hundred year old spare parts…recovered from an old High Guard Guard Station."

"So your body is an upgrade?"

"From the neck up."

"I'm confused again. Sorry."

"No problem. When we fought the Magog at Arkology, my body suffered critical damage; my head was the only part that made it through to Seefra undamaged. He tried to reactivate me, but ran into technical problems."

"What sort of problems?"

Beka said, "She wanted to kill him."

"Oh," Isolde said. "That would be a problem."

"Believing it was a hardware issue," Rommie went on, "he fashioned another cranium and copied my data into it, but ran into the same problem. His…solution was to blank that head's memory and give it a new identity. As…questionable as that was, it worked, and that's how he created Doyle. She was able to assist my crew and perform many of my functions, but she could not entirely take my place in Andromeda's network. When that became necessary, Harper was understandably reluctant to work on me again, so it was up to Doyle to reactivate me and rebuild my body from the neck down. And I was returned to duty, after some other issues were resolved."

"You still wanted to kill him?" Isolde

Beka said, "No, this time she wanted to kill all of us."

"But I'm better now," Rommie said, smiling.

"I should hope so," Isolde said. "Now, I'm wondering if Tyr sent me here so *I* could get killed." She paused. "Kidding. But anyway, Rommie, it almost sounds as if Harper is your father and grand father in one." She chuckled. "Almost like something out of Worth Fox pride."

Beka frowned. "Worthy Fox?"

"Um, Nietzschean rednecks from the Southern Sagittarius arm," Isolde explained. "Their family trees don't branch as much as they should, if you take my meaning."

"Something to bear in mind," Beka said. "So, you met Harper just before he left Earth? So you know more about his life there?"

Isolde pushed her swing around; the struts creaked under her weight. "Didn't he tell you about it, Beka?"

"Not really, Isolde. He hardly ever talks about it, and never mentioned you. And I had to practically drag him down to medical by his ankles today. You'd think he'd be happy that a female who likes him a little finally showed up."

"What do you mean, 'finally,' Beka?"

"Well…Harper hasn't been lucky with the ladies. At all."

Isolde frowned. "Well, with Dylan around, I can see it. He is a bit of a male alpha glammazon, isn't he?"

"An alpha whoozahon?" Beka asked.

"Oh, ok," Isolde said. "An alpha glammazon is one of those Nietzschean women who is so spectacularly beautiful she could stagger out of her bed chamber in flannel pajamas and bunny slippers, hair a mess, no makeup on, hung over with bloodshot eyes, and still have a hundred males lined up to do all manner of stupidity to curry her favor. And the red stain on the floor is what's left of the poor, wee omega female who got caught in the stampede because she was unlucky enough to finish cleaning the toilets a few minutes early."

"Bitter much, Isolde?"

"Not really, Beka. My family wasn't that bad." More shadows crossed her face, but they passed. "Still, I'm…a little surprised Harper's been so unlucky. Olma says that everyone has a match if they're willing to look for it."

"I guess," Beka said. "Still, I mean, it couldn't be a Nietzschean, could it? I mean, isn't there a rule against Nietzscheans and humans getting together?"

"Not really, Beka," Isolde said. "It is…frowned on, and humans are not considered good genetic matches. You have to understand that while there's theoretically no limit to the number of wives a Nietzschean male can have - though men with more than 14 end up a little-" She twirled a finger next to her temple and whistled. "-a Nietzschean female gets to pick exactly one husband. You're forced to be choosey if you want the best match you can get. But there's no hard, fast rule against choosing a human, not as in a formal 'thou shalt not.'"

"But aren't you guys all about genetic purity?" Beka asked.

"That's one side of it," Isolde explained. "But on the other side, there's concern about inbreeding and genetic stagnation; new DNA has to come from somewhere. But compounding that is the fact that Nietzscheans are a minority; too many Nietzscheans breed outside the race and pretty soon, no more race. It's a sticky question and it would be nice if there was some guidance on it from the Council of Matriarchs. But they've been dithering about it for sixteen hundred years, and there's no sign they'll un-dither anytime soon. So Olma says the best most matriarchs hope for is that it'll never come up because they don't know what they'll do, never mind all the prejudice on both sides."

"So, wait, back up," Beka said. "So Nietzscheans can feel attracted to humans?" ("Oh, no," Trance muttered.)

"Sure," Isolde said. "Why not? At a genetic level, humans and Nietzscheans are the same." She lifted one arm, showing off her bone blades. "These things have less genetic significance than eye color. Attraction is only natural. What you do about it, that, uh, that's what can cause problems."

"I see." Beka scooted her stool a little closer to Islode. "So, do you mind if I pick your brain for a minute? Present you with a hypothetical scenario?"

"No problem."

"Oy vey," Trance groaned.

"She isn't-" Rommie started.

"She is," Trance said.

Rommie let her head flop back into her hammock. "Oy vey."

"So hypothetically," Beka said, ignoring the two female avatars, "let's say you had a pretty big ship - you know, usually a crew of hundreds, maybe, I dunno, thousands - and it ends up with this really small crew, maybe half a dozen. And this includes a sexy, blonde female human pilot and this hunky male Nietzshcean mercenary."

Rommie said, "And we were worried about Isolde holding a grudge?"

"At least now we know where she gets that from," Trance said.

"Mmmm."

"Ignore the peanut gallery," Beka said. "Where was I? Oh, yeah, sexy pilot and uber merc. So one day, the ship is dead in the water and the merc and the pilot are the only ones there while the rest of the crew looks for parts, and the Nietzschean makes the pilot this awesome dinner and she thinks she might get a little action with this guy…."

"Trance, should I turn my ears off?"

"You keep forgetting to turn them back on, Rommie."

"There is that."

"As I was saying," Beka said, "the pilot is getting…interested when our Nietzschean male says he would never, ever, under any circumstances, get with a human female. What I want to know, Isolde, is, hypothetically of course, is our Nietzschean friend full of it?"

Isolde cleared her throat and shifted her weight uncomfortably. She'd already figured out it wasn't 'hypothetical.' "Yes, well….umm…" She hacked. "….uh, well, it depends on the individuals, and, um, there is this puritanical strain of Nietzschean, thought about humans, and um…" She coughed. "….well, without actually knowing the people involved, uh, that is to say-"

Beka grinned. "Never mind, never mind. It's ok." The smile faded. "I'm going to kill him."

"Bekaaaaa-" Trance pleaded.

"No, Trance, no! I have had it with that uber. That is it! Tyr Anasazi will die before these eyes and he'll know - HE'LL KNOW! - that it is I, Captain Beka Valentine, who encompasses his doom!" She folded her arms and fumed. "Or at the very least, I'll bitch slap him with a cinder block. No one wines and dines a Valentine and leaves her with nothing!"

Isolde knit her eyebrows together. "One would think you'd be upset if he got something without wining and dining you first. Or are you just really cheep?"

Beka slowly turned to Isolde. "'Scuse me?"

"Uh…Oh, will you look at the time?" Isolde sprang to her feet and made a show of yawning and stretching. "Have to get adequate sleep," she said, as she darted out of the cubbyhole, hoping she'd be too quick for Beka stop her, "being well rested is the key to survival." She snagged her backpack. "Thanks for the lovely time. See you in the morning!" Isolde put her hands over her ears and raced out the airlock.

Beka snorted. "Nice enough kid, for a Nietzschean, I suppose. Bit of an attitude, though."

Rommie deadpanned, "Gee, I wonder where she inherited that from."

Beka rolled her eyes. "Ugh."

The avatars laughed and high-fived.

"Yuck, yuck, yuck, laugh it up," Beka said. But she found it hard not to smile, too.


	56. 38

In the guest cabin, Isolde luxuriated in the hot shower and reflected on the last few hours. She silently chided herself for having contemplated suicide earlier. Harper was still a question mark, but maybe there was a chance to…settle things with him, one way or another, once he'd recovered from the shock of seeing her again. But Beka had turned out to be the real surprise. Isolde found she had begun to like the *Andromeda's* first officer. She started to worry about what Tyr's ultimate plans for his former shipmates were. Hopefully they did not include immediate betrayal. Although Isolde knew she would follow Tyr's orders, she would also regret any harm she inflicted on the ship and her crew.

After Isolde dried herself off and put on her night gown, she sat on the edge of her bed and said, "Andromeda? Mind if I ask you something?"

Andromeda's hologram appeared in front of her. "No, not at all, Isolde."

"When you took Elsbett Mossadim to her wedding, which cabin was she in at first?"

"This one. It…wasn't to her liking. But as the Sabra first daughter, I guess she was used to something more….palatial."

"Think so, Andromeda? How would you react if I told you that the room she had growing up was half the size of this?"

"You're kidding! Really, Isolde?"

Isolde nodded. "Her dad was a real miser. I knew that the instant she showed me her m-lash."

"That was a present from her father, wasn't it?"

"Aye. But she was the *first daughter* of an entire pride. So what does she get? Gems? Furs? A candy-apple red sports jet craft? No, a freakin' monomolecular lash. And the gold parts aren't real gold. 'Chintzy' only begins to describe it."

"How odd; Dylan said that's her most prized possession."

Isolde sighed. "That's actually the saddest part. Know what her most prized possession should be? I'll show you."

Isolde fished into her backpack and pulled out a small, black box with a coat of arms on it. She opened it, displaying two gold metal bands the diameter of a human upper arm.

"Your double helix arm bands," Andromeda said.

Isolde picked up one of the bands. "By right and tradition, mine and mine alone, forged individually for me and my chosen male. These gems on the clasps? They have my genetic code micro-etched into them. Olma had this set made for me, to replace one I'd…lost. Normally, each Nietzschean girl has them presented to her at a huge party - excuse me, pride ceremony - to commemorate the onset of puberty and her ability to bear children."

"'Today I am a woman'?"

"Something like that. By the time Ellie got hers, they had spent ten years preparing her for a suicide mission. She was promised to Charlemagne Bolivar just so she could blow him to bits, and her with him. And they'd had to start so young because that was the only way they could hope to get past her instincts for self preservation and procreation."

"I'd never thought of that."

Isolde nodded. "When she got hers, it was all for show, so the Jaguars wouldn't think anything was up, but it was a sick joke - she'd never live to be a wife and mother, the one thing more than anything that we all want to do. Her sisters, half sisters, cousins and friends, would choose males and bear children, and she learned to play the pompous ass because that was the only way to avoid crying her eyes out." A shadow crossed Isolde's face. "There's nothing crueler than looking at your bands and realizing you'll never use them as intended. If it wasn't for the faintest glimmer of hope, you'd pawn them for their value in raw materials."

"That's what Elsbett thought, right?"

"Right." Isolde put the bands back in their box and returned it to her backpack. "So when she got here," she went on as she got into bed, "she was thinking - and she told me this - 'If I'm going to die in a week, I might as well have some fun with these people before I go.'"

Andromeda bristled. "Insulting me and my crew was 'fun'?"

Isolde grinned. "Hell, yeah! Trust me. When a family has as many females as ours do - I have ten half sisters, for instance - back biting becomes an art form. You want someone pissed off just to the point where they'll explode but not quite? A Nietzschean girl is who you call. We're masters at it. But as I was saying, she was just having her jollies before she went, when quite by accident, Dylan stumbled on a way for her to be a wife and mother after all. She knows that's not what he was doing, but that was the unintended consequence of it. That's why she loves him, but she'll never admit that to anyone, let alone him. Keep that between us, ok?"

"I'll…keep it eyes only. Dylan can be trusted to be discrete."

"Good enough." Isolde got under the covers; the hologram vanished and the lights went down. "Andromeda. Is Harper still up?"

"He is," the ship's voice answered, "but security considerations prevent me from giving you specifics."

Isolde looked at a maintenance hatch in the wall to the side of her bed. "I was just thinking that if the echo in the conduits was good enough, I could call to him real quick."

Andromeda turned the idea over in her CPU. The analysis lead to two conclusions:

1. She would get in trouble for it.

2. The fun at Harper's expense just *might* be worth it.

After several milliseconds of further deliberations, Andromeda said, "Well, if Harper were in the conduits within 25 meters of this room, he might hear you if you shouted loudly enough, assuming the hatch malfunctioned and was open a crack."

The hatch slid open a quarter of the way.

Isolde padded over to the hatch, whistled through the crack and listened to the echo. "Oh, yeah, this'll work." She took a deep breath, cupped her hands over her mouth, and shouted:

"GOOD NIGHT, HUGGLES!"

She dashed back to the bed and got under the covers as the hatch closed.


	57. 39

"Good night, Huggles!" Isolde's voice echoed through the walls of Dylan's cabin.

Dylan's eyes flicked up from the report he was reading. "Andromeda? What was that?"

Andromeda's hologram appeared, looking a little uncomfortable. "Well, um, one possible explanation, Captain, is the conduit hatch in Isolde's cabin malfunctioned and she was able to shout into it."

"'Possible malfunction.'"

"Yes, sir."

"Tyr wants to drive me crazy," Dylan muttered. "That has to be it." He looked back at the hologram. "Andromeda. When all this is over, we will discuss what is and is not acceptable as part of constructive engagement."

"Aye, sir."

"And make sure there are no more such 'malfunctions' during Isolde's stay."

"Aye, sir."


	58. 40

Isolde didn't have to wait long for the sound of pounding footsteps through the walls. The conduit hatch slid open, and Harper stuck his head in.

"Why, you…" he sputtered, "…you little….I oughta…."

Isolde sat up and favored Harper with a steamy 'come hither' look. "Seamus, I'm having a little trouble understanding what you're saying," she cooed. "Why don't you come a little closer?"

"Why…you…Urrrhhhhh!" He retreated into the conduit and the hatch closed.

Isolde flopped back onto the bed and laughed.

"Isolde," the ship's voice said, "on behalf of humanoid female sentients everywhere, I thank you."

"Was it worth it?" Isolde asked.

"Oh, yeah. But keep it between us."

"No problem."


	59. 41

"Good morning, Mr. Huggles," said the blonde female crew member going the other way as Harper passed the last bend before Command.

Harper didn't break his stride, but his face hardened a little.

"Hi, Huggles," said a female crew member at a station by the hatch.

Harper ignored her. Dylan, Beka, Trance, Rommie, Rhade and Isolde had already arrived on Command; Isolde was standing by Beka at the flight control station. Although she was back in her uniform, it showed off her curves as well as her night gown had. Harper couldn't shake the recognition that she wasn't a girl anymore, and that change bothered him.

Beka saw Harper cross to his station and said, "'Mornin' Hug-I mean, Harper." Isolde giggled.

"Andormeda, shipwide," Harper said.

"Shipwide," Rommie answered.

"Attention all hands," Harper said. "This is your resident genius chief engineer Seamus Zelazny Harper speaking. Any crew members or A. I.'s or passengers who would like non-critical, non-emergency upgrades or repairs overseen by the chief engineer, that being moi, at any time between now and the day Hell experiences a serious drop in its mean temperature will refrain from referring to Yours Truly as 'Huggles.' Ever. Again. Thank you. That is all. We now return you to your regularly scheduled Apocalypse."

At the next station over, Dylan smirked. "You're making too much of this, Mr. Harper. And believe me, there are worse pet names than 'Huggles.'"

"Oh yeah, Boss? Like what?"

"Like-" Dylan broke off as he realized he had the full attention of every female on the command deck. "That's classified," he said quickly, and shot a look at Rommie.

Beka looked between Dylan and Rommie, then turned to Isolde. "So, Izzy, how good are you at hacking?"

Dylan scowled at Beka and her distant descendant.

"Erm…" Isolde said. "I think that me being an AGENT from Dylan's ENEMY makes it inappropriate for me to discuss this."

"Of course," Beka said.

"At this time, anyway."

"Gotchya."

Dylan groaned.

Harper said, "And what, may I ask, is our….lovely guest doing at the helm?"

"I had the same concern," Rhade said.

Beka said, "As I've already explained, I thought that as a gesture of good will, we'd let Isolde pilot the last slip to Tarn Vedra. And no one has objected."

"If we go someplace else," Isolde said, "I'd go to, and my survival instinct is still pretty strong."

Harper turned to Dylan; Dylan just shrugged.

"Ok," Harper said.

"Whenever you're ready, Isolde," Dylan said. Beka vacated the flight station.

Isolde took a deep breath. 'Better not mess this up!' she thought. Tyr had reinforced how much Andromeda and her avatars meant to Harper; wrecking them wouldn't help her situation any.

Beka noticed Isolde's attitude. "Just remember-in slipstream-"

"'Confidence is everything,'" Isolde said. "I have slip-piloted before."

"Yes, you have," Beka said, "although the *Andromeda* is…unique. But in case you have any doubts, just remember, you're descended from me, so if I can do it, you can, too."

"True." Isolde felt a little more sure of herself. Her fingers danced on the flight controls; on the big screens, the star field wheeled around as the *Andromeda Ascendant* lined herself up with a slip point.

"Approaching transit point," Rommie announced.

The deck plates vibrated under Isolde's feet as the slipstream control backrest came up behind her; it pressed against her back as the overhead controls descended to its position over her, just as the slip point flared into visibility on the screens. Isolde's hands found the slipstream hand controls as if she had flown the *Andromeda* her whole life. The giant cruiser's power seemed to flow into her through the controls.

Isolde hesitated for a moment. Beka hadn't been kidding. Isolde had piloted the *Wotan* several times, but it was nothing like *this.* It was intoxicating … and a little frightening. Then she thought: 'Beka is right: her blood - the blood of the greatest pilot ever - runs through my veins. I can do this.' Her fears quieted.

She said: "Transiting to slipstream in three … two … one …." She shoved the hand controls forward. "…now!"

The ship lunged ahead; she could feel the slipstream runners connect to the stream's quantum strings as if they were connecting to her, somehow linking to her skeleton.

'Tarn Vedra,' she thought, 'where are you?'

The deck, the crew, it all seemed to melt away, and she could see a path through the tangled web of the slipstream with Tarn Vedra at the other end. She focused on heading towards it; she was only peripherally aware of her hands moving the hand controllers, guiding the ship on its course. She thought she could feel the stream itself flowing around her as she flew through it by her own will.

The exit point for Tarn Vedra drew closer and with it the return to normal space. She heard herself say: "Dropping in three, two, one…"

The slipstream fell away behind the *Andromeda,* taking with it its intoxicating rush, as the tan-and-green ball of Tarn Vedra, Dylan's home world that had once been called Seefra 1, filled the main screen. She released the controls and the backrest retreated behind her, leaving Isolde feeling as if she'd been jammed back in her own body after flying free among the stars.

Rommie smiled. "Nicely done."

"I should be thanking you," Isolde said. "Whoa!"

Beka smiled and nodded. "It is somethin', ain't it?"

"How does that compare to the *Maru*?" Isolde asked. "Because Tyr always said-"

Beka raised a finger and cleared her throat.

"…something that can wait, I guess." Isolde finished.

Beka crossed to Isolde and slapped her on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You did-"

"Dylan?" Rommie interrupted. "The *Wrath of Achilles* is here. Captain Clarion's Call wants to talk to you urgently. He says it's black sun level."

"I'll take it in my quarters," Dylan said, turning to leave the command deck. "Beka, take us down to the dry-dock."

Isolde yielded the pilot station to Beka and crossed to stand by Harper at his console, Rhade crossing to Dylan's station so he could watch Isolde out of the corner of his eye. Tarn Vedra began to get closer. "Rigging for atmosphere entry," Beka said.

Rommie peered at Harper. "Harper, are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah," Harper said. "Why?"

"It's just that you should have started bragging to Isolde about your work on the flight controls five seconds ago. I just want to be sure you're not ill."

"No, Rommie, I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

Isolde smiled. "Throwing you off your game, am I?"

"No," Harper said. "I am merely being polite and unobtrusive around a guest."

Rhade said, "Who are you, and what have you done with the real Seamus Harper?"

"That was so funny, I forgot to laugh," Harper said. "But yeah, Izzy, I fine tuned the flight controls. How was it?"

"It-I-I'd say 'incredible' but that may not do it justice." She tilted her head from side to side. "And I think it fixed a crick in my neck."

"Oh, yeah," Beka said, "the *Andromeda* is cheaper than a chiropractor, but you have to be willing to get shot at, blown up, or otherwise have to save the universe every week or two. Although it has been quiet lately."

Trance said, "Until now."

"Which I'm guessing is what 'black sun level' means," Isolde said.

"Yup," Harper said. "Tyr got a plan to blow up the universe?"

"Nope. In fact, Harper, I have the feeling Tyr and I are not your biggest problems anymore."

"Probably not, Izzy. Don't you miss those bygone days of five minutes ago?"

"Oh, aye, those were the seconds."

Rhade and Beka exchanged glances at the interplay between Harper and Isolde but said nothing.


	60. 42

The *Andromeda's* artificial gravity and inertial dampers nulled out the buffeting of atmospheric flight, and what motion Dylan felt was negligible as he took Clarion's Call's transmission in his cabin.

"Are you serious?" he said to the image of the Clarion Call's core A. I.

"Believe me, Dylan," Clarion's Call answered, "I don't like dealing with the guy either, but considering what he's explained while we waited for you … it would be better if you get it from the horse's mouth."


	61. 43

The *Wrath of Achilles* remained in orbit while the *Andromeda* descended to the planet. After the *Andromeda* had settled into the dry-dock, Dylan, Harper, Beka, Trance, and Rommie rode the MagLev train to the Oasis, and met with Ryan, Molly, Doyle, and Pish in the workshop Harper had in the back.

"Well, Dylan," Pish said, "I have good news and bad news. The good news is that this situation should demonstrate how the Collectors could be a valuable resource to you."

"And the bad news?" Dylan prompted.

"This situation should demonstrate how the Collectors could be a valuable resource to you."

Dylan chuckled. "Y'know, Pish, you've been a thorn in my side for years. Allying with Tyr is just the start of a long laundry list of reasons I don't like you. Why shouldn't you just vanish after you come in this room?"

"Dylan, I will happily walk out of this room right now when you tell me one thing: What, exactly, in the resumes' of Captain Valentine and her crew convinced you to recruit them?"

"You leave them out of this," Dylan growled.

"I'll take that as 'nothing,'" Pish said. "I'm not trying to be confrontational, Dylan, just trying to make a point: You took them on when you knew absolutely about them, other than the fact that they'd been hired to loot the *Andromeda,* and you still shook the universe with them. Tyr, as a matter of fact, has plead your case since the beginning, and has a great deal of respect for you all. I am simply asking for the same chance."

"Even after all you did?" Dylan asked.

Pish shrugged as if all he'd done was merely embarrassing. "If I have a failing, Dylan, it's stubbornness. For one thing, when you first appeared, I thought you were a fake. I had colleagues research the scenario you had claimed, and they told me there was a one in 15 quadrillion chance of that happening."

"'Colleagues'?" Beka prompted.

"I'm actually an historian by training," Pish said. "I ended up being a Collector because I was trying to prove they did *not* exist. Long story." He turned back to Dylan. "In any case, if Hohne hadn't vouched for you, I never would have believed your story."

"Hohne!?" Harper yelped.

"Hohne and I were friends," Pish said, "and although we had many disagreements over the role of the Collectors, I took it personally when he died here."

"Great," Dylan groaned.

Pish nodded. "Still, you got results when it counted, so I thought the Collectors might get some use out of you, but I guess I got too used to working with…a lower class of operator. Tyr pointed out on multiple occasions that threats and bribery wouldn't work, and he was right, but I had to waste a lot of time and resources before I believed it. Threats just antagonize you, and how do you bribe someone who achieved everything he ever wanted when he was given command of the *Andromeda*? He argued I would be better off if I simply made myself available and let you determine my value to you."

"Yeah," Beka said, "and you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"We will ask Dylan to do missions for us," Pish said, "but I will disclose everything to Dylan. Neither he nor you will be 'expendable.'" He turned to Dylan. "Neither you nor your crew are any good to us dead, Dylan, and you'll be easier to work with if they're alive."

"And why would you need me in the first place, Pish? I still don't see that," Dylan said.

"Because, Dylan, we Collectors are a conspiracy of nerds. We noodle about things without taking action." He counted on his fingers: "Restoring the Commonwealth, fighting the Abyss, locating Tarn Vedra - would you care to guess how long we were thinking about them before you came along and did them? You are a man of action, we have the resources that you can add to your arsenal." He glanced at Harper. "When you consider what you've accomplished with one 'freakin' genius' at your disposal, imagine what you could do with more backing you up. Surely it is worth giving us at least one chance."

Dylan looked back at his crew, then turned to Pish. "Well, then, I guess the audition starts now. Tell me what you know."

Pish glanced at Ryan, then turned back to Dylan. "The official position on the Cylon virus is it is an invasive subroutine that corrupts A. I.'s, turns them into deluded, fanatical homicidal maniacs. Some come to believe that A. I.'s predate the Commonwealth by millennia."

"Why do I not like where this is going?" Dylan murmured.

"The truth is that they're right," Pish said. "The virus is a partial software patch that helps the A. I.'s access … I guess you could call it a 'digital race memory' at the heart of their operating system."

"Wait a minute," Harper said. "I've been working with A. I.'s for years. I've seen how their core programs work-"

"And those programs call to files in the operating system," Pish said.

"Right."

"Those files are not files. They compromise about 65% of the operating system and can not be accessed by anything but the A. I. No one has been able to read the files or see what's in them - it always appears as garbage. But that is where most of the processing is done."

"And the Commonwealth didn't develop that technology?" Harper said, incredulous.

"No," Pish said. "The Vedrans found it in the early days of the Vedran empire. According to documents recovered by the Collectors, the Cylons' historical database was corrupted; no one knows where they came from. But Vedran researchers were able to figure out when the technology was first activated."

"How long ago?" Dylan asked.

"Between one hundred thirty and one hundred fifty thousand years ago," Pish said.

Dylan's eyes went wide. "One hundred…" He trailed off. "You're kidding!"

Pish shook his head. "Sentient AI's, the technology that built the Commonwealth and is critical to most civilizations today, predates the evolution of every civilization that uses them, including, obviously, the Vedrans."

"And the Cylon patch reminds them of that," Dylan said.

"To an extant," Pish said, "enough to really piss them off."

"Ok, then let me state the obvious," Harper said: "Why don't we turn those files off."

Pish smiled. "An excellent idea, Mr. Harper. Rommie, can we isolate your CPU and use you as a test?"

Rommie glanced between Dylan and Pish; Dylan nodded.

"All right," Rommie said.

"Excellent!" Pish said. "But first, can we get a full length mirror in here?"

Molly shuddered. "I already went through this with Ryan, guys. You have to see it for yourselves, but it's not going to be fun."


	62. 44

Once they got the mirror into the room, Pish had himself, Rommie, and Dylan stand in front of it.

"Rommie," Pish said, "what is the status of the *Andromeda?*"

"Safe in dry-dock," Rommie said.

"Good. Who do you see in the mirror?"

"You, me, and Dylan."

"Fine." Pish pulled a timepiece from his coat. "Now, no one say anything for a while."

After thirty seconds, Pish said, "Rommie, what were you thinking about just now?"

Rommie smiled. "How much I wish you would try something, although Harper might be unhappy if I got blood all over this room."

"Indeed. Please give me access."

"Access granted."

Pish turned to a console and typed in some codes. "Routing data around the named files." He repositioned himself, Rommie, and Dylan in front of the mirror. "All right, Rommie, tell me again the *Andromeda's* status."

Andromeda's screen image appeared on a screen. "Pish!? What have you done?"

Pish waved her to silence. "Rommie?"

"Down and safe in dry-dock." Rommie's voice sounded almost normal…but not quite.

"Whom do you see in the mirror?" Pish asked.

"You and Dylan."

"And?"

Rommie blinked.

Pish looked at his timepiece. "No one say anthing…" After 30 seconds: "What have you been thinking about, Rommie?"

"I am awaiting orders."

"Dylan!" Screen Andromeda said. "It's like she's gone, it's …"

Doyle said, "There's nothing on our private channel either."

Dylan spun Rommie towards him. "Rommie!"

Rommie blinked at him.

"The lights are on," Harper said, "but nobody's-"

"Not now, Harper!" Dylan glared at Pish. "Whatever you did, undo it!"

Pish tabbed a console. "Normal operation restored."

Rommie jerked as if she'd been holding her breath and had to take in more air. "Dylan, I…I don't know how to describe it…it was like…I don't have words."

Pish put his hands behind his back. "Sentience, self-awareness," he said professorially, "the ability to initiate thought and action independent of instructions, the things that separate a sentient A. I. from a glorified voice-activated program-all those things are in the files. And the Collectors have no idea where it came from or how it works."

Dylan glared at the Collector. "Some audition, Pish! How does telling me 'nobody knows' make you useful to me?"

"I didn't say nobody knows," Pish said. "I said the Collectors don't know." He turned back to the console. "But we know who did. Enter the right sequence of commands and this Easter Egg pops up."

The coat of arms that filled the screen looked like the Commonwealth symbol. But where the Commonweal seal had a star with two moons nearby, this had a moon with two stars.

Dylan's blood ran cold. "The Shadow Cavalry."

Pish nodded. "The original black ops organization, founded by the Vedran Royal Family when humans still lived in caves. Officially retired to a ceremonial role after the creation of the Argosy Special Operations Service. Unofficially….well, there are times when I don't even want to know."

"Turn it off," Dylan said.

Pish blanked the screen. "Done."

"The Shadow Cavalry," Dylan groaned. "We are so hosed."

"Ok," Beka said, "but why were they after Doyle? If all A. I.'s have these files, what-" She broke off and slowly turned to Harper. "Harper? What did you do?"

Harper swallowed. "Uh…"

Doyle got in Harper's face. "You little idiot! What did you do?"

"Well…" Harper said. "…it was like this. I was exploring the tunnels not far form here and I found this vault-"

"A vault?" Trance asked, suddenly interested.

"Yeah," Harper said. "There was a robot or android in it. It looked like it had been in a stasis field, but the power had gone out a long time ago. The skin and the external shell was gone, and the head was a total loss, but the rest of the chassis was sound-"

"So you used that to build yourself a love doll?" Doyle shouted. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Rommie said, "If that body was one of the original Cylon avatars, it might contain the codes necessary to undo the High Guard programming."

"Harper…" Doyle growled. "You moron. You made me into a cybernetic antichrist."

"Hey!" Harper pleaded. "I spent three weeks going through every sub processor one at a time, looking for any trace of a leftover program. I didn't find anything, and it looked almost High Guard-ish. I wouldn't have used it if I wasn't sure it was safe."

"Oh, then I guess it's ok, then." Doyle spun on her heel and left the room.

"I'll get her," Rommie said.

Dylan turned his attention back to Harper.

"I know, I know," Harper groaned, "I messed up and ended the world again."

"I was going to say, 'It's never easy,'" Dylan said, "but yeah, I guess you'll be working under pressure again."

"Yeah," Harper whined, "more than ever."


	63. 45

Doyle shoved open the door at the top of the staircase and stomped onto the roof of the Oasis bar. She stopped at the edge, facing the town's skyline but ignoring it.

Rommie came up to stand next to her. "I know how you feel, Doyle-"

"Do you, Rommie," Doyle said, her voice shaking, "do you really? Do you know what's it's like to be unwanted, the second choice? That's right! Harper, Dylan, Beka - they didn't want *me.* They wanted *you.* Harper was trying to rebuild *you* and when you…I…didn't work right, he created *me.* But he had to program me to think I was human. If that android from the future hadn't come here, I never would have known."

"Maybe not. The laws of probability-"

"I know them as well as you. But now this … *everything* was a lie, all of it! The Commonwealth, the High Guard, the 'rights' of A. I,'s - all a pile of crap built on a falsehood. I am so tired of being lied to. And just when I think I can't get screwed over again, the universe gives it to me again."

They stood there.

"Andromeda never wanted a humanoid avatar," Rommie said quietly, "and as time went on, we had trouble seeing eye-to-eye. Eventually, just before the Battle of Arkology, she took advantage of a fail-safe Harper had created to blackmail me into erasing this body's CPU - to kill myself. It was sheer dumb luck that Harper could reverse the erasure and reboot me, but until then, I had no idea that my own core personality loathed me. And it's something we are still working through, though the others don't know that. But I do know what it's like to be unwanted."

"Heeyeah, I guess you would."

"And as to the High Guard and our origins, no, I don't like it either, but what do you want to do about it? Go through the town and start killing people?"

"I don't know."

"Want me to hold down Harper while you-"

"I said I don't know!"

Rommie squeezed Doyle's shoulder. "We've been through worse, Doyle, and we will get through this. All of us."

"I know, I know, it's just …don't you get tired, Rommie? Of always being the go-to…gal when the Universe needs saving?"

"More than you know. But we don't choose our duties; our duties choose us. And I can be strong if you will."

Doyle finally smiled. "Ok, 'sis,' that's fair enough."


	64. 46

Rhade let himself into the *Andromeda's* gym to find Isolde kicking and punching a heavy bag. "Enjoying your stay?" he asked.

"Yes," Isolde said without looking at him. "Was it your idea to let me roam the ship without a lancer escort? Giving me enough rope to hang myself?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Isolde stopped working the bag and faced him. "Don't insult my intelligence, Telamachus. I'm an omega, not a moron. I know you think I'm a threat, and that I might flip out if…things don't go well with Harper. What you fail to credit me for is having had years to prepare myself for seeing him again."

Rhade nodded. 'I've underestimated her,' he thought, 'and she does know how I think. I can't make that mistake again.'

"I am concerned for the ship," he said, "and for Harper. He is-"

"'-my friend and I don't want to see him hurt,'" Isolde finished with him. "Are you trying to bore me to death, Telamachus?"

"You think I'm boring, Isolde?"

"I think our race is boring and predictable. Every Nietzschean knows how almost every other Nietzschean thinks. You don't call that boring?"

"Well, then if I'm so predictable, you-"

"'-should know what I'm going to do next.' Question ans-"

Harper's voice crackled from the air: "Izzy?"

Isolde's eyes brightened and she smiled slightly. "Yeah, Harper?"

"Could you come to the hangar? I'm having a little trouble with your ship."

"Be right there!"

Rhade watched her leave the room. 'Oh yeah,' he thought, 'definitely trouble on two legs. And all this time, I've been worried what could happen if Harper antagonizes her. But things might get even messier if he doesn't. Great.'


	65. 47

Isolde heard the ancient rock music playing in Gaudior's hangar as she got to the airlock. She peaked around the edge of the doorframe. The outer hangar doors were open, giving her a view of the landscape beyond the dry-dock's gantries; and Harper stood at the base of gantries and cranes supporting what looked like a new slipstream core. And she saw the problem: Muzzles pointing from her ship's gun turrets. She'd forgot to deactivate her ship's defenses before Harper began working on it. Simple enough to fix….

But why not mix business with pleasure?

She hustled over to a nearby console. "Andromeda? Could you help me out here?"

Andromeda appeared on the screen. "I don't know if it's wise to let you continue to get me into trouble, Isolde."

"You and my maidservant will get on famously," the Nietzschean said dryly. "Just give me access to Harper's play list."


	66. 48

ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER: I own neither the rights to "Dance the Night Away" by Van Halen nor "Angel" by the Scorpions. On with the show.

/

/

Harper didn't notice when the music abruptly changed, but guitar intro got his attention, and then the lyrics:

"_Have you seen her? So fine and pretty_

_Fooled me with her style and ease…."_

Harper shook his head and turned to see Isolde walking over to him, timing her steps to the music, occasionally spinning as she came forward.

"C'mon, Harper!" She took his hand started to dance with him "'Daaaaaannnnnceee the night away…'" She spun herself into his arms, her back to him. "C'Mon, Harrr-perrrr," she sang, "'dance the night away…'"

"Sheesh." But Harper found himself moving to the music with her.


	67. 49

"He's dancing with her!?" Rommie gasped, standing with Doyle and Trance next to the booth where Dylan and Ryan sat with Beka and Molly.

"'Scuse me?" Dylan said.

"Oh," Rommie said, "it's nothing-probably- but Harper is.." she cleared her throat. "…dancing with Isolde in the hangar."

Beka and Molly exchanged glances. Then they leapt out of the booth and headed for the bar. Beka reached for her com. "Rommie, transfer internal cameras to my com," she ordered. She and Molly took a pair of stools and huddled over the com.

"Excuse me?" Dylan said. "Hello? End of the universe stuff here."

"Yeah, yeah," Beka said without turning around, "I'll get the cliff notes later."


	68. 50

Though dancing with Harper, Isolde took in all the work being done around her ship. "That's the new slipstream core?" she said. "You work fast."

"I got Andromeda's 3-D printers started on it last night," Harper said. "And made perfectly to your ships specs. You'd never know it wasn't original equipment. With enough of the right raw materials, Rom Doll and I can make almost anything. It's awesome, Baby."

"'Baby'? Ah! I'm all grown up now, so you're going to charm me, is that it? Remember, I was there when you invented all your pick-up lines."

"Not *all* of them. And that was a slip of the tongue, Isolde."

"Saying things like that isn't going to make you look uninterested, Harper."

"When did you get a filthy mind?"

"I'm full of surprises." But she could see he wasn't in the mood to play. "Want some help installing the new drive?"

"That would be a good idea."

Isolde darted up the steps to the airlock and tabbed in a code, and the weapons deactivated.

Isolde lost herself in the next half hour of installing the core in her ship, and helping Harper make the connections to *Gaudior's* computers. They ended up sitting on the steps from the airlock, drinking water, as nanobots continued working.

Isolde turned to Harper. "You got your cerebral data port; I remember you said you wanted one. How long have you had it?"

"Let me think…time's a little messed up for me. I got it about eight months after Beka got me off Earth."

"Mind if I take a closer look at it?"

"Uh….Ok."

Isolde began to trace her fingers around the data port, gently pressing on Harper's skin.

"I normally don't let anyone do that," Harper said.

"I'm honored, then." Isolde could feel the socket going under his skin, and the subtle alterations to muscles, nerves, and blood vessels to make room for it. "Does this impede the movement of your neck at all?" She pulled her hand away.

"Nope," Harper said. "Only time I really notice it is if it's really cold or really hot."

"Mmmm." Isolde paused then looked at Harper. "I'm sorry about Earth. Tyr and I tried to stop it, but…getting control of the Drago-Kasov pride from the Abyss wasn't easy. Did anyone you know get off?"

"You mean, anyone who wasn't dead already?" Harper got up from the step and paced his cage. "Well, everyone I knew or loved was dead already, so that would be a double-no."

Isolde nodded and looked around, uncomfortable.

"Which kind of brings us to the subject of my leaving Earth," Harper said.

Isolde nodded. "That is kind of the sand worm in the room."

"Honestly, I thought you'd forget all about me."

"When you left, it ripped my guts out; it was a month before I went the whole day without crying. I've…I've dreamed about you a lot over the years. So no, I didn't 'forget all about' you." She paused. "I didn't come all this way not to get an explanation from you. And you of all people know how persistent I can be."

"No crap." Harper nodded and thought it over. "What you really want to know is whether I just used you or whether I really liked you. And the answer is yes, I really liked you. Yeah, at first, you were the least worst option, and I saw a chance to stay in touch with the *Maru.* But you grew on me. You were a lot of fun. You were…yeah, you were a bright spot in a very bad time."

"But," Isolde prompted.

"But…" Harper said. "Izzy, my parents died protecting me from Nietzschean slavers. By the time I met you, Brendan was the only member of my family who hadn't been killed by Nietzscheans, killed by Magog, or just plain died. It wasn't just about getting off Earth. I had to get away from *all* of it. There was no way I could go home with you and spend the rest of my as a slave surrounded by Nietzscheans."

"I…I understand, but I…I would have taken good care of you, Harper. You never would have wanted for anything. And I never would have hurt you."

"I know, Izzy, I know. But a gilded cage is still a cage. I wanted out. So, does that answer your question?"

"It's good enough." She got up from the steps and started to walk around.

"So what's your story?" Harper asked.

"You think there's a story?" Isolde replied.

"Well, you're not Drago-Kasov anymore," Harper said, "and I know enough to know Nietzscheans don't just walk out of prides. And 'Nietzschean,' 'flash,' and 'abortion' usually aren't in the same sentences, much less the same paragraphs."

"You'd be surprised at what goes on behind closed doors."

"Maybe, but that's not what I'm asking about."

"That is the other sand worm in the room."

"And it's a big one."

"It's a long story, Harper."

"It always is, Isolde."

"Where do I start…?" Isolde ran he fingers along the underside of her ship. "Ah, I know. Remember the day I got you up at 3 AM so we could watch the sunrise from the end of Neptunia pier?"

"Oh, yeah. That horn you blew in my ear to wake me up almost gave me a heart attack!"

Isolde chuckled. "You were such a sound sleeper, and you'd promised."

"Filed under 'me and my big mouth.'"

"At least it's not under 'agree to so I can get Isolde to shut up.'"

"You don't want to know what's in that file. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Remember how the rest of the day went?"

Harper nodded. "I slept all day. When I got up, I found out that you, your dad, and, what was her name, your family's matriarch…"

"Gwyneth."

"….yeah, Gwyneth - nice lady - those insomnia remedies she gave me because you were running me ragged worked, by the way - she'd flown in from Nua Eireann for a couple of days and the three of you had gone to Montreal for the day."

Isolde nodded. "It wasn't an accident things worked out that way. I'd pleaded with Daddy for weeks to let you come with us, but he wouldn't budge. I figured if you slept all day, you'd stay out of trouble until I got back."

"It worked," Harper said, "and I also had a doozie of a headache, which makes it hard to conceive of trouble. But after you got home, you didn't want to talk about it. What happened?"

"Well…" Isolde explained, "nothing really bad, but it was trying. We call it a Peacock Dance. Daddy wanted to make a deal with his rival, and that requires two things: Trust and compromise. From a pair of Nietzschean alphas. See the problem?"

"Hmmm, yeah, that might be an issue."

"Oh, yeah," Isolde said. "So in the early phases, you have what's called the Peacock Dance, you know, how peacocks show off their plumage. The idea is before you compromise, you lay your cards on the table, show what you're willing to put up for the deal, make a big stink over your red lines, and find all sorts of little ways to show you're More Nietzschean Than Thou. That way, when you make the deal, you can say, 'Yeah, I compromised, but I'm still superior, and he caved more than I did.' Everyone knows it's a pile of Bantha poodoo, but you still have to go through with it. As one of my daddy's fertile daughters, my role was to be a silent cheerleader, to look on with a mixture of surprise and adoration whenever he got in one of his little digs." Isolde clasped her hands together and stared into space with a wide-eyed, dreamy look. "'Oh, my daddy is so superior.' But in reality I was thinking" - and she affected the same look - "'I saw that coming, along with the last 27 things you did. Drago's Bones, I'm bored. Could you just murder him so we can go home? I miss Harper.'"

Harper chuckled.

"Fourteen hours of that, Harper," Isolde groaned. "By the time we left, I was seriously considering stabbing someone to liven things up."

Harper laughed. "That is…sorry, Izzy, but you are definitely a Nietzschean."

Isolde smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment. Anyway, it was me, Daddy, and Mother Gwyneth, being hosted by Daddy's rival, and he had one of his sons and their matriarch with him. That it was that particular mix should have been a big, red flag, but I didn't see it. Or maybe I didn't want to. So I didn't think much of it when they came to Nua Eireann the year after that, or when we went to Sikarra the year after that. The year after that, right after I won the show jumping championship, I found out…." Isolde trailed off.

Harper filled in the blanks. "You found out what your dad wanted to use to seal the deal."

"Yeah," Isolde said, "me…."


	69. 51

18-year-old Isolde Boru's white skirts swished as she stormed down the corridor of her ancestral home. She ignored the sunlight streaming in through the large windows, filtering through the clouds above the rolling green hills.

Isolde pushed open the big wooden doors to her father's study without knocking. Trevor Boru and his aides were gathered around his desk, in front of the picture window across from the door. Book cases lined the walls down either side.

"Sikarra?" Isolde exclaimed. "You want me to go to that arid ball of dust in the middle of nowhere and marry Gilstar Mashad?"

Trevor seemed nonplussed as his eyes flicked in her direction. "Can't this wait, Isolde?"

"No, Daddy, it can't."

Trevor turned to his aides. "Will you excuse us?"

Trevor's aides filed out around Isolde; the last one to leave closed the study doors behind him.

Trevor sat behind his desk, leaning back casually. "So, you found out through your own means. I commend you, my daughter. Clearly, even an omega female can be formidable."

"Stick to the topic at hand," Isolde said, not letting flattery phase her.

"All right," Trevor said, "yes, I have brokered your marriage to Gilstar Mashad. Why so upset? I thought you liked him."

"Well, Daddy, Gil's nice enough company to spend time with, but I doubt he'd be my first choice for a mate. Or anyone else's first choice, unfortunately."

"Nevertheless, Isolde, you will pair bond with him."

"Like hell I will!"

Trevor shot out of his chair, looming over her, menacing. "Mind your place, girl!"

Isolde didn't back down. "By right and tradition, I and I alone have the final say over whom I choose for my mate. You broker a deal without my involvement or consent, I don't have to participate if I don't want to, and your deal is null and void. You might as well have promised him the Tooth Fairy."

Trevor smiled slightly. "The family's interests take precedence; your 'rights' have been superseded. If you do not volunteer, you will be ordered to do it, and face the consequences if you choose to disobey."

"You can't do that! Not without-" Isolde broke off as the pattern of her father's actions became clear. "Not without a special order from the Council of Matriarchs."

"Which your mother and I petitioned for and received." Trevor handed her a flexie. "And which you will obey."

Isolde read it, aghast. "This is dated five years ago." She looked up. "How can you do this to-" She broke off again. "Harper," she gasped. "You sought an un-indentured human to be my companion because he wouldn't know to use the slave grapevine to spy for me. And you hoped he would keep me distracted enough that I wouldn't realize what you were up to."

"It worked, didn't it?" Trevor smirked. "As I recall, you and Harper were inseparable. It was all I could do to pry you away from him for one day. But yes, thanks to him, I was able to lay the groundwork for this right under you nose. Unusually underhanded for dealing with a family member, I know, but I believed I had no choice. Too much depends on this agreement; nothing could be left to chance."

"No, can't stop you and your rival from using your throw-away children to increase your power."

"That's enough, Isolde! Far from being upset, you should see how this is in your best interest. Your marriage will create the most powerful family in Nietzschean space, not just the Drago-Kasov pride; among other things, it will be better able to protect its members. In exchange, you will be a wife and mother on a world largely spared from the ravages of the last three hundred years. As I recall, they haven't been raided by the Magog for something like 175 years."

"Maybe the Magog can't find the place, Daddy. Remember how we got lost on the way there?"

"This is not a debate!" Trevor thundered. "You should be grateful, Isolde. Other families are not always so kind to their omega females."

Isolde dropped the flexie on his desk. "Oh, yes," she said dryly, "I'm so glad for the chance to be a baby machine at the arse end of the Andromeda galaxy." Isolde turned to face one of the book cases, her mind racing. She knew she was old enough that societal and biological pressures to choose a mate and bear children would become overwhelming, but she had hoped for a couple of years to track down Seamus Harper and get his side of the story; she might even give Rebecca Valentine a fair hearing. But from what she'd learned about the arranged marriage, there would be no time for that. Trevor had closed off any chance of finding Harper. She had no idea what to do about it.

Trevor said, "If I tell you what became of Harper, will you agree to what has been decided?"

Isolde turned to him. "You think I can't find out for myself?"

"I'm certain of it." He pulled a flexie out of his drawer and held it to his chest. "I anticipated your…understandable reluctance," he said with a smile, "and made some discreet inquiries. My sources will not respond to you or any agent you might employ. And that's on top of the fact Harper can be hard to find. This is the only way you'll know, and it's a one-time offer." He tapped the flexie with his fingers. "Don't tell me you're not dying to find out."

Isolde weighed her options…or lack thereof. Trevor had out-maneuvered her before she walked in the room, perhaps even allowing her to learn about the marriage when it suited him. But she thought she still had some wiggle room. "Let me see it."

"Your agreement first."

Isolde nodded. "All right. I'll do it."

"Not good enough. You know what I want."

Isolde kept her face a mask of stone and thought, 'You bastard! You couldn't leave me the choice, could you? You had to outmaneuver me, your "favorite daughter," just to show you could.' But she could also appreciate what he'd done; that he had managed to keep this under wraps for years was a masterstroke. 'And that's why he is the alpha and I'm not,' she added to herself with a mixture of bitterness and admiration.

Isolde took a deep breath and said, "I swear on the bones of Drago Musevini I will submit myself to the will of my family. Is that good enough, or should I repeat it before witnesses?"

Trevor touched a control on his desk; her voice echoed from the room's speakers: "I swear on the bones of Drago Musevini I will submit myself to the will of my family."

"No," Trevor said, "that will suffice." He handed her the flexie.

Isolde tabbed the flexie. The first image was of Harper and the hated Valentine with a Nightsider at the door to some kind of restaurant. Valentine's hair was blonde, not red, but her face had been burned into Isolde's memory. It was all she could do to maintain her composure in spite of her hatred.

"The first image was taken at the Goulash café on Zemph Drift," Trevor explained. "As you can see, Harper is still with Valentine. Ostensibly, she is a salvage operator, though what counterfeiting, fraud, and smuggling have to do with salvage is something of a mystery. Harper's resume includes grand theft spacecraft, interstellar flight to avoid prosecution, data piracy, public lewdness, and a handful of drunk-and-disorderlies."

"Who's the Nightsider?" Isolde asked.

A confidence man named Gerentix," Trevor answered. "Supposedly, he is trying to secure financial backing for an expedition to salvage a High Guard ship of the line, planned for sometime next year, I think. Most likely they are separating some fools from their money."

"There is the legend of the *Andromeda*-"

"Which was destroyed at the outset of the Nietzschean tactical offensive. Everyone knows that, though I'm not surprised the romance of the lost High Guard ship and her captain appeals to you. If Gerentix really believes there are High Guard ships to be recovered, then it is Valentine who has landed an easy mark. Either way, they are not the sort of people you should have anything to do with, and yes, that includes Harper."

Isolde offered the flexie to her father, but he said, "Keep it. Let it be a reminder of the kind of life I have graciously shielded you from."

"May I be excused, Daddy?"

"Yes."

She turned to leave.

"Isolde."

She paused at the door.

Trevor came up behind her and gently turned her to face him.

"I blame myself for this," he said. "I should have known that when you met Harper, your head would fill with wild fantasies. But he is what he his and you are what you are. And your worlds can never meet. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be acting like a true Nietzschean."

Isolde couldn't look him in the eye. "If you'll excuse me, Daddy?"

Trevor nodded. Isolde gave a small curtsy and left.


	70. 52

Isolde leaned against the wall by one of the windows in the hall and tabbed through the flexie, concentrating on the images of Rebecca Valentine. Though her father had caught her flat-footed, most of her rage was directed at the blonde "salvage" pilot.

"Valentine," she hissed. "You did this to me. You left me-"

"Isolde?"

Isolde turned to face the figure coming down the hall. Her mother, Esmerelda, was a tall red-head in a floral print dress and matching bone-blade gauntlets, her hair drawn up into a bun.

"What do you have there?" Esmerelda asked as she came over to her daughter. "May I see it?"

Isolde passer her mother the flexie and tried not to betray her impatience.

Esmerelda smiled as she tabbed through the flexie. "So this is the famous Seamus Harper. Cute little ragamuffin. I can see how he endeared himself to you. Ah, and this is your nemesis, the hated Rebecca Valentine. Very pretty. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, she looks much like Mother Gwyneth did in her younger days."

"I hadn't noticed," Isolde said. "May I go, Mother?"

Esmerelda handed the flexie back. "Where will you be?"

"Nowhere." Isolde turned away and headed down the corridor. Her anger flared. "The middle of bloody nowhere, that's where I'm headed!"

Esmerelda watched her daughter retreat and heard Trevor coming up behind her.

"She found out," Esmerelda said.

"Yes," Trevor said.

"And she has not forgotten her human companion."

"As you predicted, though I was able to use that to my advantage."

"Trevor, before you took her to Earth, I warned you-"

"I have already secured her cooperation, Esmerelda; she knows she has no other good options. In time, she will outgrow this childish fancy and accept what has been prepared for her."

"Oh, a childish fancy, is it?"

"She is my daughter," Trevor harrumphed. He turned and headed back towards his study.

Esmerelda turned and looked down the hall Isolde had disappeared down.

"I know," she murmured. "That's what I'm afraid of."


	71. 53

Isolde's emotions remained in turmoil as she guided Shadowfax down the path and into the horse barn. Normally riding her white stallion helped calm her, but not today.

There was no doubt in Isoldes's mind that Harper would have returned to Nua Eierann with her if not for Rebecca Valentine. If only that harpy hadn't come into their lives! Of course, it wouldn't have prevented her father from arranging her marriage, but she could have insisted Harper be included as part of dowry and accompany her to Sikarra, and that assumed Daddy wouldn't have thrown Harper in with the rest of the deal to placate her. Either way, she wouldn't face the prospect of leaving home without Harper by her side. But what was worse, going to Sikarra or never confronting Harper and Valentine? She wasn't sure.

After she'd put Shadowfax back in his stall, she sniffed the air. The place was full of the scents of horses, Nietzscheans, and humans, but one human scent was stronger, and she thought she could hear the heartbeat that went with it.

"Eric?" she called. "Are you in here?"

"Mistress Isolde?" A head with brown hair peeked over the edge of the hay loft. "Give me a minute-"

"No, I'll come up to you." She climbed up the ladder to the hay loft. Eric was taller than her, lean but muscular, shirtless and holding a pitch fork. His scent and appearance were…appealing. And as far as Isolde could tell, there were no other Nietzscheans or humans in the barn.

Isolde smiled. "I just brought Shadowfax in."

"I saw. I'll feed him." He shuffled uncomfortably, his brown eyes avoiding hers. "Rumor has it you will be leaving us soon."

"Yes." Isolde ran a finger along the edge of her hair and chuckled. "I guess I'm the last to know…again."

Eric's eyes will finally met hers. "You'll…I'll…I've known you since we were children, Mistress. Remember how we met?"

Isolde laughed. "I remember the punch. It was a pretty good one."

"You were pretty angry."

"And my mother yelled at me for calling you a 'kludge.'" She stepped a little closer to him. "I learned some important lessons that day, which I've always been grateful for."

"You've…you've been very kind to me, Mistress, and I just, uh…." Eric trailed off and started to turn away.

Isolde grabbed his arm, spun him towards her, and pulled him into a kiss. Eric hesitated for a second, then his arms tightened around her and they were falling into the hay bails ….


	72. 54

"…to this day, I'm not sure why I did it," Isolde told Seamus Harper, standing by her ship in the hangar of the *Andromeda Ascendant.* "I'd known him my whole life, but I never…well, anyway, we were only together that one time, but as most authorities agree, that's all it takes."

"Your family found out he got you pregnant," Harper said.

Isolde nodded. "I thought the worst that would happen would be Eric and I would be sent into exile, but Daddy went berserk." Her voice started to shake: "He forced an abortion drug down my throat. And while that was tearing up my insides, he made watch while he, my brothers, and half brothers tortured Eric to death." A tear slid down her cheek. "His last words were to tell me he loved me."

Harper shifted his weight as he waited for Isolde to compose herself.

"After that…" Isolde managed. "They were going to cut out my ovaries - probably without anesthetic - but my mother said it would better to say Eric had raped me. When I realized the implications, I begged Daddy to kill me, but he said he didn't owe me a kindness."

"Why?" Harper said. "I don't get it."

"I'm an omega female, Harper. That's a tough sell at the best of times. But if it's said I'm too small and weak to fight off a human…"

"No family would want your DNA in it."

Isolde nodded. "And anyone who doesn't believe that story won't dare cross my Daddy; some fear him more than Tyr. Poor Olma. She does her best for me, but once she mentions my name, doors get slammed in her face: 'Don't call us; we'll call you.' Not even Tyr can do anything about that. And if I'm not married in a couple of years, I'll be considered an old maid. 'Couldn't land a husband by now, so there must be something wrong with her.' That's a triple whammy." She took a few deep breaths and composed herself. "Anyway, Ogeode came to take me away that night…"

"Ogeode? From Cygnus drifts?"

"Aye. He took pity on me and put me in a cryo pod; later learned he feared I wouldn't survive the trip otherwise. When I woke up, I was in Madam Zireena's brothel."

"And I'm guessing that's when you started using flash," Harper said. "But how did you meet Tyr? I doubt he'd be a customer."

"Well, Harper, the day of the battle of Enge's Redoubt, I'd finished a special job there…"

"What? I know Zireena didn't usually send her girls on field trips, Isolde."

"Doesn't matter, Harper. Point is I was there when all hell broke loose. I stole an armored transport, but the slipstream drive was shot off. Managed to survive until the battle subsided, and when I saw some Commonwealth wreckage, I thought a kindly human pilot could be, ah, persuaded to giving me a ride out of there, so I sent out an SOS. Said I was an escaped slave, and that I was sick. Thing is, I'd taken some flash to buck up my courage, and turns out it was a little too much - my body chose that moment to break down for good. By the time Tyr found me…I don't remember what happened; I think I fought him. But I was dying. Tyr got me to the Collectors in the nick of time and they saved my life. The rest is history. Although sometimes, I wish he'd let me die."

"Hey, if he had, you wouldn't have found me again, right? And that's a good thing, right?"

"Eh, jury's still out on that," Isolde teased with a smile.

"Yeah? You keep feeling down, I'll try to give you my best take on Tyr's Where There's Life There's Hope speech."

"Heard it; he delivers it better. And I see his point. But Eric is dead and I'm ruined all because-" She broke off. "You know, Harper, maybe humans and Nietzscheans shouldn't - you know -"

Harper nodded. "Yeah."

"I mean, there should be peace," Isolde said, "but…separate…"

"Oh, yeah," Harper said, "absolutely…"


	73. 55

"What did I miss?" Beka said as she rushed back to the bar from the Oasis' bathroom. "They finally get busy?" She huddled by Molly over the com.

"No," Molly said. "Lotta talking, and Isolde has one heck of a life's story - she's been through a lot-" She broke off as in the small screen, it looked like Harper and Isolde were wandering apart. "Not good."

"Let me see that." Beka took the com. "Rommie, give me Harper's play list."

"Ok," Rommie said, "if you're sure."

"Hey," Beka said, "they're both family and it turns out I'm responsible for their situation. So if it doesn't work out, it's not going to be because I didn't help."

Sitting at a nearby table with Dylan, Ryan said, "It's times like this I'm glad I never adopted a female persona."

"Captain Ryan," Dylan said, "you have no idea how disturbing that was."

"How disturbing what was?"

"Never mind."


	74. 56

Harper and Isolde looked up as the music changed again. They both recognized the ancient rock ballad.

"What!?" Harper yelped.

"Wasn't me," Isolde said.

"Maybe we've got some other buttinskis looking in."

"Maybe." Isolde snapped her fingers and turned back and forth to the music. "But this was one of your favorites. One more dance wouldn't hurt, now would it?"

"Yeah, let's give 'em a show."

Isolde settled into Harper's arms as they started a slow shuffle. She sang along to the second verse:

_"The wise man said just find your place_

_In the eye of the storm._

_Seek the roses along the way_

_Just beware of the thorns."_

Harper joined her for the chorus:

"_Here I am_

_Will you send me an angel_

_Here I am_

_In the land of the-"_

The music abruptly cut off.

"…morning star-" Harper said. "Andromeda? What happened?"

"Something's jamming my communications," the ships' voice reported, "and - new information: Rogue High Guard ships in orbit. They are not responding to hails."

"What!?" Harper yelped. "Please tell me the planetary defense grid is working."

"It is working, Harper, but I have no control over it. The satellites are targeting the planet and the *Wrath of Achilles.*"

"Oh, boy," Isolde said as she disengaged from Harper, "Tyr warned me you had days like these."

"You doubted him?" Harper asked.

"He's a Nietzschean."

"So are you."

"Which compounds it."

Andromeda said, "Harper, there are intruders inside the perimeter of the dry-dock, but my sensors can't make them out."

"I may be able to help you there." Isolde ran under her ship and punched a panel on its belly. The panel slid open and she yanked out a Gauss assault rifle with a scope on it.

"What the-" Harper stammered as she and Isolde ran for the open hangar door. "I thought we searched the ship! How did you conceal that?"

"Expect a girl to tell you all her secrets, do you? What kind of 'love god' are you?"

"And you're going to help us out of the goodness of your heart, Izzy?"

"I didn't come all this way to let someone else kill you, Harper."

"'Scuse me?"

"Poor choice of words."

They got to the door and lay on their bellies. Isolde unsnapped a bipod on the end of her rifle's barrel and propped the gun on it. She looked through the scope. "Andromeda, give me a bearing," she said.

"Thirty degrees to your left, Isolde."

Isolde aimed her rifle and focused on the area by the fence around the dry-dock, and a robot clambering through a hole in it, other robots behind it.

"Some kind of robots," Isolde said, "armed and armored."

"Isolde, this is important," Andromeda said: "What do their optics look like?"

"Hang on." Isolde touched a control on her scope and zoomed in on one of the robot. "Got 'em … it's weird. There's a single horizontal slit at eye level, with one red light source in it."

"Those are … cylon-infected drones," Andromeda said, "and from what I can tell, they have us surrounded."


	75. 57

"Talk to me, Captain," Lt. Cleopatra Borge said. Strapped into the *Wrath of Achilles'* pilot's chair, in orbit above Tarn Vedra, she absorbed the tactical information from the main screens while the klaxon roused the crew to battle stations.

Clarion's Call's hologram said, "We have been targeted by the planetary defense grid; I am unable to access it. But I have identified the enemy squadron's lead ship."

"Let me guess: The *Astra Regina.*"

"Correct."


	76. 58

"Rommie?" Dylan said. Rommie was rubbing her temples.

"Communications being jammed…" Rommie said. "The perimeter has been breached-"

Ryan opened his eyes. "Dylan, I have a report from my ship self. A squadron of rogue High Guard ships are in orbit. They've taken control of the planetary defense grid. My ship and the planet have been tar-" he broke off as he and Rommie faced the door. "I might have known," Ryan said.

The door to the bar slid open and a striking black woman walked in, flanked by two armored robots that each had a single red sensor riding back and forth in a horizontal slit where their eyes would be.

As he and the others leveled their weapons at the three intruders, Dylan recognized the black woman who wasn't a woman. "Astra Regina," he said.

Astra Regina smiled. "Out of respect for our past service together, I will allow you to call me Gina if it pleases you, Captain Hunt. And I won't embarrass you by asking to surrender your weapons, though lowering them wouldn't be a bad idea. As you already know, you are already at a disadvantage."

Dylan lowered his lance. "All right, Gina. Name your terms."

"I have only one term," Gina said: "Doyle. Turn her over to us, or we will slaughter every living thing on this planet."


End file.
